


when you wake, the sun will rise

by honeydewbunnies



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Graphic violence in later chapters, M/M, Rating May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-06
Updated: 2018-02-20
Packaged: 2018-02-28 08:27:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 12
Words: 145,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2725676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeydewbunnies/pseuds/honeydewbunnies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At District Karasuno, also known as "The Flightless Crows", no one volunteered. This year's reaping stands out—because two were chosen—and two entirely different people left. There was no intention of starting anything, absolutely no desire to spark a revolution.</p><p>But they did.</p><p>It's been an extraordinarily long time since this crow has taken to the skies, but birds never truly forget how to fly. [Hunger Games AU]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sugawara Koushi

**In Penance For Their Uprising:**  
  
As a reminder of the rebellion against the Capitol, each of twelve districts shall offer up two tributes—a _male or female_ between the ages of twelve and eighteen— at a gathering known as the public “reaping”. This is the price the districts must pay for their wrongful betrayal against the Capitol. Following the public “reaping”, these tributes shall be delivered onto the custody of the Capitol, wherein they will be transferred to an open arena—then fight to the death—until only one or two tributes from the same district win.  
  
_Henceforth and forevermore, this pageant shall be known as The Hunger Games._

* * *

1\. **Sugawara, Koushi**

  
_“You’re worrying about nothing.” He says lightly, chuckling a bit and waving his hands. There is a harsh chill in the air, just as there always is during this time of year. They are sitting motionless at the edge of a ravine, gazing at what seems to be an endless field of golden grass before cutting off abruptly by a rusted, chain-link fence. It served as a partition, blocking off hills that were blanketed with evergreen forests that signified freedom outside of their district. It was here where they often came to think, to decompress and to escape the burdens of everyday life. It was a place they deemed to be just for them, a haven of sorts, to focus on themselves._  
  
_Here, where freedom was almost too close._  
  
_The lighter-haired one of the two curls up to blow warm air into his shaking palms, often the one to constantly seek ways to keep warm. He has a light blue scarf wrapped tightly around his neck, which seems to be the only part of his body that isn’t outwardly shuddering in cold._  
  
_The other frowns for a moment, his concern not yet completely washed away._  
  
_“Koushi…” Daichi voices quietly._  
  
_“It was a dream.”  Sugawara adds somewhat dismissively—but it’s in a way that isn’t off-putting or insulting to the other. “We’ll be all right. It’s the last year our names are going to be in the reaping bowl.” He pauses, rubbing his hands together before smiling up at Daichi. Sugawara’s eyes are gentle, and somehow it momentarily gives Daichi the strength to allow his worries to dissipate. Daichi inhales deeply, as if struggling to physically dispel his troubled thoughts through a single breath._  
  
_“It’ll be okay,” Sugawara promises, softly nudging him with his shoulder. His voice is barely above that of a whisper, his radiant brown eyes half-lidded and relaxed._  
  
_Hesitating, Daichi glances over at Sugawara again. Daichi seems placated, and soon he nods hesitantly._  
  
_With that, they turn their full attentions back to the view in front of them, in quiet contemplation of how life would be without the constant fear of reaping day._  
  
_The conversation has ended, and they sit in silence.  
_

* * *

  
“ _Sugawara Koushi_.”  
  
He can hear the faint rustling in the distance, the beginnings of a virtually tranquil crowd gradually evolving into a maelstrom of unrestrained cries and pandemonium. He can sense the chaos ensuing, bubbling lightly at first, before erupting all around him. He stands confused, with his feet frozen to the ground and his arms tight against his sides at an utter loss of what to say or do.  
  
Slowly, his eyes are widening with realization while his lips move to form a small ‘o’.  
  
Everything goes quiet.  
  
_Mute._  
  
Where he stands, he can see with his own eyes that people are kicking fiercely, their mouths distorting into what he perceives to be blood-curdling screams. Their eyes, their _faces_ are contorted into what could only be described as pure anguish. Their limbs are struggling to break free from the peacekeepers, pushing and jerking away. Families are weeping in despair, others shaking, crouched down onto the dirt and holding their loved ones close.  
  
He tilts his head, regarding the scene playing out in front of him. He realizes with time that things _haven’t_ gone quiet; his mind just simply cannot comprehend it.  
  
He wills himself to move, to do his part in ending this turmoil, but his feet refuse and cannot comply. Sugawara swallows, re-imagining the twisted faces in the crowd, how terrified they’d been seconds before, but are now shattering and screaming for him. This transpired every year because despite everything, the district never truly wanted to surrender one of its own. The peacekeepers had to compensate for the reaction, spreading out evenly to keep movements amongst the people as restricted as possible. It is at this time that Sugawara experiences the feeling of having dread washed over one so rapidly –with barely even a _second_ to react.

Conjointly, he knows he cannot expose his fear for all the world to see.  
  
He needs to be strong.  
  
It is not long after when he feels the cold, callous hands of the peacekeepers, wrapping their gloved fingers on his arms, dragging him up to the front, towards a stage suspended above this madness. He goes willingly, though his feet are still having trouble complying, now substantially heavy and slow. Sugawara can feel his fists begin to clench and shake at his sides while his throat hitches in response.  
  
_He is going to do this_.

* * *

  
As he is hauled across the dusty, barren path towards the platform, he locks gazes with several of his friends, taking a moment to register each one for what he believes to be the last time. He is _almost_ calm, _almost_ accepting of the situation presented onto him— until he sees Daichi. He recalls the earlier events of the morning and immediately frowns to himself, inwardly wincing at his outright dismissal of his friend’s concern.  
  
Sugawara is inclined to turn his head away remorsefully, to acknowledge the fact that he was wrong, but he can’t bring himself to look away.  Instead, he gazes at Daichi, in a hasty attempt to both apologize and comfort him wordlessly. Sugawara nods stiffly, smiling a smile that is both kind and determined _because at least it was him, and_ not _Daichi and_ not _the others._

Sugawara’s mind can still barely comprehend the situation; the shock has hardly even settled in. Peacekeepers are shuffling aside him, yanking him roughly from side to side, with one hand still clutching his upper arms as they use their free hands to aggressively shove any protesters away.   
  
Daichi’s head is down and facing the ground, with a heavy shadow cast over his face, covering his expression entirely.  His fists are clenched decisively, but he isn’t shaking. There is absolutely nothing in Daichi’s body language that even remotely hints at fear. He seems resolute, though Sugawara cannot be sure why.  
  
“Move it along,” growls a peacekeeper, shoving Sugawara forward, knocking him in the back. Grunting a bit, and ready to continue, Sugawara steps ahead, his gaze still unable leave Daichi. His eyes continue to dart back at him, despite Sugawara’s every effort to focus on the events at hand.  
  
He was sure he saw Daichi’s lips move.  
  
Daichi was saying something.

Sugawara blinks to himself and for a split second, he has a flash of lucidity.  
  
_What did he just say?  
_

* * *

  
Immediately after, he is carelessly propelled towards the stage. He stumbles onward haphazardly, his feet twisting beneath him, trying his best to straighten his shoulders and lift his head up high.  
  
_He is ready._ This is it.  
  
Sugawara’s eyes are now fixed on the escort, a man with thick, square-rimmed glasses wearing a peculiar outfit. _Capitol Couture,_ he thinks they called it. The escort smiles brilliantly at him. Oddly, Sugawara cannot feel any real hatred or condescension from the man.  
  
There is constant talk about the various types of people inhabiting the Capitol. One thing Sugawara learned growing up was the Capitol’s notion of self-importance, their superiority above all the districts. The districts are _inhuman_ and _beneath_ them, so of course, they’d feel disgusted merely even mingling with them.  
  
But _this_ smile feels ironically genuine. Genuine and…, somehow oblivious.   
  
The escort is reaching out a hand, beckoning him forward, while holding the microphone in his other hand. He has goldenrod wavy hair, but seems to have small, shimmering flecks of turquoise in it. His suit is tailored and dark, but in the sun, like his hair, it shines iridescent hues of blue and green. It reminds Sugawara of the insides of the ‘Mother of Pearl’ seashells that he used to collect with his deceased mother.  
  
Straightening up, he shakes his head clear of his thoughts, before finally looking forward to the crowd. His mouth is drawn into a thin line, but his eyes are unwavering. His prior confusion is gone and all that is left is a sense of determination and obligation. He can do this, _because it’s_ him _, and it’s not any of_ them.  
  
The escort, Takeda Ittetsu, he thinks the man said upon introduction, is waving towards the crowd, blathering on about something Sugawara chooses not to listen to.  The escort is excited, attempting to minimize the smile tugging up at the corners of his lips.  
  
“I VOLUNTEER!”  
  
The escort pauses, mouth left ajar, with his head slanting slightly to the side. The entire reaping scene becomes silent—so silent that if a person were to whisper, it would probably be heard in volumes. Takeda tentatively takes a step forward, almost disbelievingly, as the crowds around the voice murmur and pull away. Takeda cranes his head forward. “Did I just hear-“  
  
“I volunteer as tribute.” The voice is clear and unwavering.  
  
Behind his glasses, Takeda no longer endeavors to conceal his exhilaration. His smile has broken out in full, the hand with the microphone shaking with anticipation. “A… a volunteer?” He repeats the statement, as if making sure he didn’t misunderstand.  
  
Sugawara’s eyes widen upon realization.  
  
_No._  
  
“We…” Takeda grins readily, his other hand clenching, pumping aside him in an enthusiastic manner, as if he was just presented with a new toy. “We have a volunteer! Please, come up!”

* * *

  
Sugawara begins to feel the stirrings of panic, anger, and fear travel throughout his mind and body. Before he knows it, he is stepping forward hurriedly to make eye contact with the volunteer, barely able to utter the thoughts forming in his mind.

When he sees Daichi break away from the ground, making his way to approach him, Sugawara panics, biting down on his bottom lip, clutching his blue scarf in tandem.

Responding, Sugawara straightens. “NO!! I-“  
  
Takeda, who is not even looking at Sugawara at this point, makes a slight sway with his hand, motioning for the peacekeepers to take him away. The eager smile on Takeda’s face never wavers.  
  
“NO!”  
  
Sugawara is aggressively ripped off the stage, earning a bloodied cheek for his disobedience. He is struggling even more, propelling himself away from the peacekeepers to run frantically towards the volunteer.  
  
“ _Daichi_! What do you think you’re doing?! Don’t—“ He is abruptly drawn away, not by a peacekeeper, but by _Asahi_ , one of his closest and dearest friends. Slowly but forcefully, Sugawara is half-carried and half-dragged back into a wave of people to simply watch as the events unfold.  
  
_NO!_ His mind screams. His arms and legs twist and yank at his friend, demanding to be freed. He can hear a grunt from Asahi behind him, reacting to Sugawara’s elbow thrusting into his chest. Asahi only tightens his grip, securing him.  
  
“Keep quiet,” Asahi says softly— almost inaudibly, his fear clearly affixed onto his face, “if you keep this up, it won’t matter that Daichi volunteered for you.”  
  
Sugawara understands what Asahi is saying.  
He’s saying _not_ to make Daichi’s sacrifice in vain. Sugawara may not be going to participate in the games, but the guards would not hesitate to kill him anyway for insubordination.  
  
Sugawara _knows_ this.  
But he _can’t._  
He _can’t_ keep quiet and stand idly by while Daichi throws away his life.  
  
Halfheartedly, he pushes Asahi’s arms away from him and steadies himself to protest, planting his feet into the ground.  
  
“Suga”, another voice pipes in. “ _Don’t_.” There is a certain tone in the voice of the smaller person standing next to Asahi, and it’s a resounding tone of futility.  
  
Stop.  
  
There’s nothing we can do.

* * *

  
Daichi is standing on the stage now, barely even sparing the escort a second glance. Takeda is inspecting him, curiously eyeing him from head to toe. He seems to be waiting for something, for a dramatic story alluding to why he had chosen to volunteer.  Takeda remains there for what seems like hours, glancing at Daichi, fidgeting in suspense of what amazing details may lie ahead.  
  
After a few moments of Daichi maintaining his stoic, expressionless stance, it is obvious that Daichi intends to say nothing. This, however, does nothing to quell Takeda’s enthusiasm. To Takeda’s credit, he is _still_ smiling elatedly despite Daichi’s unfriendly frown and stern, hard stare into the crowd.  
  
Daichi’s eyes _never_ meet Sugawara’s.  
  
“The district’s _first_ volunteer!” Takeda echoes into the microphone. He pauses in delight, eyes teeming with emotion, before breaking into exuberant applause to emphasize his euphoria.   
  
When met by silence, Takeda gulps nervously, clearing his throat sheepishly before dusting off his suit in effort to subtly transition to the next chosen participant for the Hunger Games.  “And now for the second tribute…” He lifts his hand with stunning panache, tugging lightly on the cuff of his suit, as graceful fingers reach deep into the glass bowl full of names.   
  
.  
  
..

...

* * *

Sugawara rushes towards the door, slamming it open, causing it to crash against the wall, then ricochet back towards those following after him. He knows they only have a few moments to say their goodbyes.  
  
“ _Daichi, damn it!”_  
  
Upon entering, Daichi has his back faced to them, gazing out a small window inside the room he is contained in. He turns when he hears their footsteps approaching, hastily making their way towards him. At first Daichi is reticent, glancing briefly at Asahi and Nishinoya, both not speaking, then refocuses his attention on Sugawara.  
  
“Why’d you volunteer???” Sugawara has his fists clenched so firmly that his hands are gradually turning white. He is gritting his teeth and lifting his head in defiance, near angry at the situation. Sugawara’s voice is rising with the diminishing control of his escaping emotions. “I COULD’VE HANDLED IT—“  
  
“KOUSHI,” Daichi replies, in a voice that matches the tone of his own. “Stop it. I want this. I’d… rather this.” He is glancing down thoughtfully before looking up at Sugawara, eyes firm with the resolve Sugawara saw earlier. “You can’t change my mind.”  
  
Sugawara initially balks at Daichi’s resolve, staring into Daichi’s expression of determination. He curls his fingers into an even tighter ball as the overwhelming futility of the situation crashes down and paralyzes him. He _can’t_ do anything to help Daichi. Nishinoya was right. There is _nothing he can do._  
  
Before Sugawara even notices it himself, his fists are slowly uncoiling. His throat is choking and he can feel his eyes glaze, stinging and starting to tear. “Daichi…” There is a crack in Suga’s voice, and he is trembling.  
  
He freezes when Daichi pulls him into a strong, all-encompassing hug.  
  
“Take care of everything here”, Daichi says quietly. “You can forage the forests for food and herbs. Get some help from Noya and Asahi, they might be able to trade or spare some cheese and milk.” He glances up at Asahi for confirmation, and Asahi nods silently, mouth drawn into a thin line, as the corners of his lips quiver, trying hard not to falter. Nishinoya stands straight aside him, his voice mirroring his confidence.

“You can count on us, Daichi.”

Daichi makes a soft nod and bows his head lightly, to emphasize his gratitude. He turns back to Sugawara. Sugawara is hiccupping now, both hands fumbling at his scarf, alternating between quiet, gasping sobs to louder, more unrestrained sounds of protests. Daichi regards Sugawara, his words trailing off after realizing Sugawara is having difficulty listening to him through his crying. 

It’s at this time that Daichi kisses him.  
  
It seems oddly timed and a bit out of the blue, but no one in the room reacts to it. Instead, the dense, deafening silence becomes even thicker.  
  
Daichi and Sugawara’s close friendship had always been a just that: a friendship, which up until now, remained platonic, but full of moments that walked the line towards something more. Neither voiced it, neither really deemed it necessary. It went unsaid, but it was clear. There were little gestures here and there, a few caresses and smiles saved for when they were alone that sometimes slipped when they were with close friends. But the _whole world_ is deteriorating around them, and Daichi and Sugawara know what their priorities are. Everyone _else_ comes first.  
  
_The priority is to protect everyone else._  
  
Daichi knocks his cheek on Suga’s uninjured one, his fists gently lacing through soft, silver locks of hair. He takes a moment to look at Sugawara, then gives him a strained, but confident smile.  
  
Daichi releases him.  
  
“Just in case.” Daichi replies, even though Suga does not question the kiss. Asahi and Nishinoya are both looking away in slight embarrassment, both in effort to give them privacy, though neither are surprised by the development.  
  
Sugawara knows that Daichi’s words are resonant with the inevitability that this is the last time he will see them and that he _will_ most likely die.  
  
“D-Don’t die,” Sugawara asserts instead, gasping slightly for breaths, even though he knows Daichi cannot grant this wish with certainty. He is still crying, but he is trying to be strong for everyone else.  “Don’t die…” He reiterates, with a doleful expression that replaces his traditionally kind and easygoing features. Sugawara lifts his fist, pressing it firmly into Daichi’s chest—as he often did from time to time to encourage the other. He does so with much less force than it usually would have, but it is enough to validate his confidence in him.  
  
He keeps his fist there, shutting his eyes.

“ _Don’t you_ dare _die_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note [M]: There are two of us collaborating on this story. Two brainstorms, one writer, one beta! I just want to say that we do both know the themes of the actual Hunger Games series, but chose to add a little romance to our story. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this as much as much as we enjoy working on it! Thank you!! : )
> 
> Author's Note [K]: Augh, first chapters are always the most difficult—but here is prologue one of two! Thank you in advance for reading it! I just wanted to put out there that this story will play out to focus more on the Haikyuu characters themselves rather than forcing Peeta, Katniss, etc. to be a certain character. Haikyuu characters will be written as per their personalities and their actions will not be exclusive to Peeta, or Katniss, etc.
> 
> There will be similar situations that follow the book, others more likely the movie; it depends on what we like better. There will also be changes made to their surroundings, events occurring, etc. The rules in this world aren't necessarily going to be the exact same as the ones in the original Hunger Games and there will most definitely be new scenes.
> 
> In addition, everyone is fair game—just because we're writing District Karasuno to be the main characters, it doesn't mean they are exempt from anything. :3
> 
> In this world, from the start, two tributes can win as long as they are from the same district. The two tributes can be both male, both female, or one male and one female. The names are taken from one giant vase. Volunteers take precedence. Once a person volunteers, the person volunteered for cannot volunteer for the next tribute. So in this case, Daichi volunteered for Suga but Suga isn't allowed to volunteer for the next chosen tribute.
> 
> Also, I'd like to say that sadly, there will be no Tanaka in this story. There's a reason for that, but that's a secret. (The same goes for any other "main" characters in the world of Haikyuu that aren't mentioned.) ^_^
> 
> Thank you again for taking the time to read it! We hope you all enjoy!  
> (And a great thank you to my BETA/the other mastermind of this story! uvu)
> 
> P.S. This story will also be available on fanfiction.net, under the same penname and title~!


	2. Kageyama Tobio

2. **Kageyama, Tobio**  
  
_He shivers uncontrollably, curling his body forward to retain what little bit of warmth he has left. He’s managed to capture something small in the forest— enough, maybe, for him and his family to consume and ration for the next few days._  
  
_During this time of year, the less wealthy, more impoverished side of the district (everyone was poor, but the level of poverty varied) does its best to rally together, to share what little resources they have to combat the bone-chilling, unforgiving winter. Kageyama has always scowled at the notion of ‘rallying’ together, turning his chin up defiantly at the mere mention of the subject. Sure, they say they’ll share clothes, share food, but it’s not like they ever do—because they often don’t. It really isn’t a matter of being a liar or going back on your word— it’s just that when the time finally comes and you see the immense suffering of your own family, it’s difficult to lay focus on anyone else._  
  
_In any case, he can’t believe it. In this poor village, one where people can barely make ends meet, the dumbass is still a shining beacon of oblivious light. Hinata is running from tree to tree, at a gifted, crazy speed, doing what he can to help in this freezing cold— because before the winter had even started—the dumbass had already promised to go into the forest to find bits of wood and kindling. Kageyama knows this, and thinks Hinata is an idiot for taking on a task that is both time-consuming and dangerous._  
  
_He is watching, watching Hinata dig through the frozen, snowy ground, searching for pieces of wood that aren’t completely saturated in ice water. Hinata's fingers are turning blue from the cold and Kageyama swears he can see bits of ice form around the smaller boy's trembling mouth. His lips are gradually turning into a bright red and his neck is hunched deep into his thin jacket.  
  
After a few moments and no wood to show for it, Hinata pouts indignantly at the snow, brushing himself off before pushing himself up into a standing position._  
  
_“Ah, Kageyama.” Hinata notes upon his arrival. He tilts his head in question, then sees the small animal over Kageyama’s shoulder. “Hunting?”_  
  
_“Dumbass,” Kageyama replies, ignoring his question. Kageyama begins to rub his own arms in attempt to keep warm before shifting and regarding Hinata fully. He then opens his mouth to say in a strong, reprimanding and unintentionally condescending tone, “if you stay out here, you’ll freeze to death. There isn’t any medicine if you—”_  
  
_Hinata is rustling now, in a small rucksack he seems to have brought to keep the wood in. Kageyama stiffens, because the dumbass isn’t even_ listening _to him._  
  
_“Hey—“ Kageyama begins, in an angrier tone, his scowl deepening. He doesn’t even know why he’s wasting time here._ If the dumbass wants to freeze to death, then…

_“Here.” Hinata says, interrupting his thoughts. “The wood that’s for you and your family.”_

_Kageyama is taken aback, fumbling with his hands, reaching them out awkwardly, as if not knowing what to do. He takes the wood, of course, he’d be stupid not to. He needs anything that will help battle this horrible winter._  
  
_The next thing he knows, Hinata is jumping at some ungodly height, trying to reach into a tree. “There’s probably some drier wood up here!”_  
  
_Kageyama looks towards the left, noting the path he used to enter the forest. He and Hinata were in the shallower side of the forest, the side away from the chain-linked fence. He takes a moment to gaze over at Hinata, who would have seemed to have boundless amounts of energy, if not for his shaking knees and numbing fingertips. Scowling, Kageyama opens his own rucksack, carefully putting the small animal and the pieces of wood inside._  
  
_Hinata was always like this. It could very well be the coldest winter, Hinata could be struggling to find anything for his family, but he would always manage to find something for someone else._  
  
_“Dumbass,” Kageyama starts again, in his usual tone. “Is the cold making you even more of an idiot than usual?”_  
  
_Hinata frowns when he touches the ground after jumping high into a tree that yielded nothing. He makes a small, guttural sound of distaste before turning to Kageyama to yell something back with his fists up and clenched for emphasis. “You jerk—“_

 _“Try this one,” Kageyama interrupts. His tone is no less demanding than it was before, but he is now pointing up at a tree that has significantly less snow with a birds nest settled inside of it. He doesn’t even know why he’s wasting time and helping Hinata. Still, he glances over at the orange-haired boy and shrugs. “…There should be some dry wood here.”_  
  
_And the dumbass smiles, forgetting that he was even angry to begin with, running over to Kageyama and persisting to keep his dumb promise to do_ his _part to help the village,_ because that’s just what Hinata does.  
  
_And what’s more?_  
  
_Kageyama doesn’t even know or understand what possesses him to stay, but he does.  
_

* * *

  
He is standing there, wholly unsure of himself, right next to Daichi. He doesn’t know how this mess of events came to be, but he is the second tribute, and he will be the one to join Daichi in the Hunger Games. The scowl on his face continues to persist, despite Takeda’s smiling and attempting to shake his hand.  
  
“There we have it,” the so-called fashionable man with glasses states, “our two tributes for—“  
  
“Wait!”  
  
Takeda takes a moment to squint over at the crowd, looking for the owner of the disembodied voice. He tilts his head gradually from left to right, his eyes darting from corner to corner, searching. “I volunteer too!” The voice states, and soon, Kageyama sees a small hand rise up in the middle of a crowd. He cannot see who it is and for a moment the owner of the voice does not even register—until he sees a small puff of orange hair.  
  
His eyes grow wide in disbelief.  
  
Takeda is positively bursting at this point and his eyes are glistening in anticipation. “ ** _T-Two_** volunteers?! Why…this… this is absolutely _unheard_ of!” Delightedly, he peers over the edge of the stage as the boy finally emerges from the crowd. Takeda cranes his face forward to better inspect the volunteer, before he jerks back in surprise at how much smaller the volunteer is compared to the prior chosen tributes. Still, Takeda is grinning and he beckons Hinata up. “Please, come up—“  
  
Kageyama’s mouth is opening and closing at this point, but he is not able to form words.  
  
Hinata is walking slowly but deliberately, looking down at the dirt, with his hands nestled deep inside his ripped pant pockets. No peacekeepers surround on either side because he is going willingly. He chances a glance at Kageyama, and this is what seems to stir Kageyama out of his transient shock.  
  
Once Hinata reaches the top step, everything comes crashing down on Kageyama at once. He thrusts his arm out to grab Hinata aggressively by the collar.  
  
“Ngh—bastard—“ Hinata flails, wiggling in his grasp, “what are you trying to—“ Hinata gasps between words and pushes at Kageyama to release him, but Kageyama maintains his grip, even though his grip is beginning to shake.  
  
Hinata observes his faltering grip, then looks up at him in surprise. In all his years of knowing Kageyama, practically his entire life, he’d never seen Kageyama show any signs of weakness.  
  
Takeda stumbles back at the sudden display of violence, distancing himself from the now turned precarious situation. “A-ah, wait!”  
  
 “No,” Kageyama says fiercely to Hinata, ignoring the escort. He is staring at Hinata, eyes glazed with shock, anger, and desperation. “You CAN’T—“ His arm is forcefully twisted, pulling at aching, shaking muscles. Kageyama winces in pain and is pried off Hinata as the peacekeepers unceremoniously hurl him from the stage and onto the ground.  
  
Kageyama grimaces as the rough patches scrape across his face, feeling the instant sting of the abrasions. Despite this, he pushes himself up nonetheless, preparing himself to fight back. This time, the peacekeepers are readying their weapons, as if sensing more than a minor disturbance from him.  
  
Takeda waves his hand again, calling off the peacekeepers. “Don’t harm him,” he says, in a loud, commanding tone that no one in town had heard from him all day. Takeda’s glasses are askew from his brief stumble from the scene, but his position of dominance is not even slightly affected. “Someone has volunteered for him, now leave him be.”  
  
Responding, the peacekeepers lower their weapons and instead decide to drag Kageyama over to a corner, tying his arms tightly behind his back until the ceremony is over.  
  
“And what’s your name?” Takeda starts gently, as if speaking to a child, the previous rigid look on his face melting away. Hinata bristles, but answers the question swiftly and confidently. “Hinata! Shouyou Hinata.”  
  
Kageyama scowls because _he_ wouldn’t have answered Takeda. He wouldn’t even spare the stupid man a glance.  
  
Takeda nods, smiling in the affirmative, looking over at the crowd once more while raising his hands. “I give you, this year’s tributes for the 74 th Hunger Games, Sawamura Daichi and Hinata Shouyou!”  
  
“Happy Hunger Games!”  Takeda pauses to shut his eyes in elation, before letting out a grin that seems too large for his face to finally surface. “…And may the odds be _ever_ in your favor.”  
  
There is a ring of strangled cries and sobs in the crowd, and Kageyama notices Hinata wince and turn his head away, eyes focused on a certain area in the mass of villagers. Kageyama follows Hinata’s gaze and sees Hinata’s younger sister, still not old enough for the reaping, held tightly by her mother while she clutches at her lion doll, crying violently.  
  
...

..

.  
 

* * *

  
Hinata has his back turned when Kageyama enters the visiting quarters. Hinata’s shoulders are tight and he is slightly hunched forward. He may not be shaking, but Kageyama can easily sense Hinata’s unease.  
  
He shoves the door forward so his presence is known, scowling deeply, much more than normal.  After a few seconds, the worn door clashes into the wall with a resounding _boom_ and its metal hinge clangs in response _.  
  
_ “K-Kageyama!” reprimands a voice in the room. Kageyama does not listen, nor does he care who it comes from. All he can think about is how _frustrated_ he is.  
  
His dark, midnight blue eyes are fixed on Hinata, who by now has made hesitant eye contact with him as well.  
  
“ _Hinata_ ”, Kageyama vocalizes, in a quiet, but austere tone. He cannot help it if his voice is laced with every emotion he feels—he can’t _hide_ the frustration he feels.  
  
Hinata frowns and blindly takes a step back towards the window as Kageyama rapidly makes his way to him. Hinata feels the rim of the window behind his back and he purses his lips stubbornly as if readying himself to be scolded. Kageyama is angry, so full of turbulent, tempestuous emotion that as he grits his teeth, he is almost shaking with fury. He figures that Hinata must notice this, because his eyes widen and he almost cowers instinctively, in attempt to stave off Kageyama’s bout of anger.   
  
Once directly in front of the smaller boy, Kageyama slowly unclenches his fists and yanks Hinata to him, hugging him, _embracing_ him as tight as he can. Hinata feels paralyzed and stiff in Kageyama’s arms, but Kageyama takes no heed of this.  
  
“K-Kageyama…” Hinata’s voice is surprised, but small. It is evident that his previous emotional wall of nerve and certainty is beginning to break down. Hinata is trying to be strong and take hold of the situation. Kageyama knows what he is thinking. _He is smaller than most. His chances are…_  
  
Kageyama shuts his eyes for a second, tightens the embrace, then turns his head and gently brushes his cheek against Hinata. Kageyama loosens his hold on him, but instead of pulling away, he firmly locks his hands on Hinata’s shoulders. Hinata is afraid. He is looking down at his feet and his lower eyelashes are darkening at their roots because tears are brimming around them and threatening to descend.  
  
Kageyama knows they only have a few minutes, so immediately; he makes do with the situation.  
  
“You’re quick, Hinata.” Again, Kageyama shuts his eyes, pausing to emphasize his words. The tone of Kageyama’s voice hasn’t weakened; it is both intimidating and assertive. “You can jump. _Stay_ on your toes and _be_ alert.” Hinata flinches, straightening up as if responding to the authority in Kageyama’s voice.  
  
At this, Kageyama relaxes, his shoulders moving downwards as he speaks again softly, his tone changing completely, eyes open again, steady as they stare into Hinata's. “…Okay?”  
  
Hinata, who otherwise was stiff and motionless, begins to perk up. His eyes are suddenly full of energy and he smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, as if embarrassed. “You really think that?”  
  
Even in these kinds of circumstances, the dumbass is still easy to read. The compliments are settling in and Hinata is beginning to feel a spark of confidence surge through him. Kageyama can see this as Hinata’s face continues to brighten, albeit only little by little. Kageyama is now to pulling away because Hinata is beginning to bounce and shuffle from foot to foot.  
  
But then quickly and abruptly, Hinata kisses him.  
  
It is neither soft nor romantic; instead, tight-lipped, awkward, and unsure. Their lips are pressing together simultaneously, cold with fear, but warm with the sensation of determination and hope. Kageyama clenches his fists by his sides in realization of the smaller one’s actions.  
  
He then leans into Hinata, until their foreheads are pressing against each other. They are close enough that when they finally open their eyes, they can see can both see bits of orange and black in front of their eyes. Slowly, he reaches his fingers up to Hinata’s soft, unruly hair, clasping them tightly (but nowhere near tight enough to hurt the other).  
  
Kageyama sighs heavily and irresolutely. “I know you.” Kageyama says softly, seemingly jolting Hinata from the trance of what just occurred.  
  
“I want to yell at you for taking my place.” He starts, with the same, severe tone he always adopts. At this, the smaller one pouts.  
  
 “And as much as I want to smack you for it…” The volume of his voice begins to rise and his scowl becomes even more daunting.  
  
Hinata bites his own bottom lip, continuing to pout stubbornly, raising his head, ready to dispute. Aware of this, Kageyama tenderly nudges his forehead against Hinata’s to silence him wordlessly.  
  
“…But I know… I know doing that won’t change your mind. So good luck out there, all right?” Slowly, Kageyama unclenches his fists and hugs him again. There are a few more things exchanged between the two before the peacekeepers slam the door open, causing Hinata to hastily glance up at Kageyama, nodding and ready to go. Kageyama steps forward. “I’ll take care of your family. I’ll make sure Natsu eats. Don’t worry about them.” He waits, making sure Hinata nods to affirm that he had heard him.   
  
Once Hinata reaches the exit of the room, he briefly stops. He turns his head to look back at Kageyama, then grins, affixing him with a ‘thumbs up’ before rushing after Daichi. “I know you just said it, but don’t forget to take care of Natsu, mom and dad!”  
  
Kageyama stumbles at the random action, but is somehow not surprised. Of course the dumbass would exit like that.  
  
Hinata calls Daichi from a distance. And even though Hinata cannot see it, Kageyama nods.

* * *

.

..

...  
  
  
Kageyama can sense eyes on his back. When he feels a hand gingerly touch his shoulder, he flinches, effectively and unintentionally causing the hand to pull away.  
  
He turns his head to see Yamaguchi and Tsukishima eyeing at him in silence. He is unsure of whose hand was on his shoulder, but the taller of the two looks away and awkwardly pulls his hand up to his own head, running his fingers through his blond hair. He is wearing a deep frown and looking towards the corner of the room.  
  
It’s obvious he is looking for the right for words to say, but is at a loss for them.  
  
“…I’m sorry,” Tsukishima offers awkwardly, but sincerely, in a completely monotone voice. He stands for a moment, looking at Kageyama with a stare similar to Kageyama’s own naturally grim one, then promptly exits with Yamaguchi (who pipes up a gentle _“He’ll be okay!”_ ) behind him.  
  
Kageyama is standing there now, alone.

He grimaces, berating himself, feeling instant regret—because it may very well be the last time he’ll ever see Hinata— and he could not even ask him to come home safely or even outright _thank_ him for what he did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note [K]: Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this so far, kudos’d (hehe) and commented! It really means a lot to us and it really encourages us to keep writing. Here is Prologue Part 2! From this point on, the chapters will be longer. Despite Daichi and Hinata not being in contact with everyone back at the district, there will still be interaction and relationship development, so don’t worry, you’ll see! Thank you again for the support! We appreciate it!


	3. Hinata Shouyou

**Disclaimer:** We don’t own the Hunger Games, or Haikyuu.  
  
[ _Reminder:_ This story may or may not follow with the Hunger Games story setting, plot, etc. There will be similarities and differences found throughout the story to fit more with the Haikyuu!! world. Thank you in advance for reading!]

* * *

3\. **Hinata, Shouyou**

 **  
**_There he is.  
  
Kageyama’s back is turned to Hinata and he is bent down on the forest floor making patterns with a tree branch. The reaping occurred last week, but right now, Hinata and Kageyama are just barely eight years old. __Hinata knows what the reaping is about, but it doesn’t really sink in. He knows that children are picked by the Capitol to participate in something called the “Hunger Games”, and that bad things happened when a child was chosen. He knows that those children almost never returned home and that it scared him to turn twelve, all because of some kind of price to pay for a rebellion that happened years before he or even his parents were born. But at this point in time, all he is concerned with is the awesome game that he had just played with the other boy.  
  
He was new at it, but the older kids, like Sugawara and Daichi, had taught him the basic rules. Sugawara was the one who came up with the idea first. He said that his father and mother both casually played volleyball when they were little and he thought that after they all finished their chores, it would be a good way to alleviate some of the stress and heavy depression in the area. They wouldn’t have much time to play, what with everyday tasks and other looming responsibilities, but still, it was something.  
  
_  
  
It was fun.  
  
Their “volleyball net” was actually an old, tattered fishing net, and they drew lines with branches they found into the ground to mimic the lines of a court, much like what the boy squatting in front of him was doing, absently drawing a picture into the dirt.  
  
Even the older children seemed to notice Kageyama’s talent. More often than not, the game was over before Hinata could really enjoy, because Kageyama, even though he was still young, always ruled the court. Sure, most of the ones standing on either side could barely bump, set, spike or even underhand serve. They were all inexperienced, all too small to reach the top of the fishing net; with an old, ratty ball that was partially flat and becoming heavy. It hurt their arms to play with it and the ball didn’t float quite right, but that didn’t matter to any of them.  
  
Hinata grins, running over to where Kageyama is crouching—choosing to crouch beside him. Kageyama’s eyes widen in surprise, but he says nothing, returning his gaze downward and continuing to draw an image into the ground.  
  
“Is it a volleyball?” Hinata asks excitedly, shuffling his feet, looking for a branch for him to use as well.  
  
“Y-Yeah.” Kageyama answers hesitantly. He seems a bit shy to Hinata, but nice. Hinata shrugs indifferently, because shy people never bothered him.  
  
“We’ll play again, okay?” Hinata starts, waving his arms excitedly. He finds a small, stubby stick, using it to haphazardly draw a net next to Kageyama’s volleyball. “And then I’ll beat you,” Hinata says excitedly, “and I’ll be the last one standing!”  
  
Kageyama smiles a bit, seemingly thrilled about the idea of playing again.  His eyes fall down to the pictures they’ve drawn, his small smile tugging more at the corners of his mouth. “Maybe.”  
  
“Maybe?” Hinata responds, wrinkling his nose. “We definitely will! I’ll get my chores done extra early tomorrow, okay?  We can practice together!”  
  
They actually _ did _so the next day.  
  
They also practiced together the day after, the day after that and the day after that. Before they knew it, it had been two years since they had started._

_They found a sort-of schedule for them to meet and play, even if it was only the two of them and even though their schedules sometimes didn’t allow for it. They found a place that wasn’t crowded with people, a place somewhat private and tucked away, but not so hidden that they would never be found if need be. Sugawara and Daichi consistently warned them not to play in town, where they would be seen easily. Hinata wasn’t sure why, because they weren’t doing anything wrong, but he suspected it had something to do with the men that sometimes inhabited their village, the ones in white, shiny plastic-like suits. In any case, it was the place where they could take a breath, even as children, from their harsh, severe surroundings.  
  
It was something they could look forward to, even though the village was boring and they were always hungry. It wasn’t rare to see a man being beaten, beaten so hard that his screams echoed throughout the town, a child collapsing from malnutrition, with those around often ignoring the child and walking around them, or for someone to just suddenly disappear. These were things that even Hinata’s eight year old mind could comprehend as frightening and paralyzing.  
  
 _People were often getting sick and many were losing hope._ _

_Because of volleyball, Hinata and Kageyama had something they could actually smile about.  
  
_  
  
It wasn’t long after that two year stretch when a peacekeeper had run into them and decided to take the volleyball. There wasn’t any reason to confiscate it, but peacekeepers often enjoyed being cruel just to _ be _cruel. Hinata didn’t understand it. Why did the peacekeepers treat them like that? They did their work, their chores, and no one did anything against the Capitol. The ones before them were the ones who rebelled against the Capitol, so why did they constantly have to pay the price?  
  
The peacekeeper had laughed, mocking the two, pointing a gloved finger at their faces. Kageyama was around ten at the time, but he wasn’t afraid, not one little bit. He charged towards the peacekeeper yelling, looking desperate, and telling him to give the ball back.  
  
The peacekeeper took the end of his rifle and slammed it violently into Kageyama, and Hinata swore he heard a loud crack as it made contact with Kageyama’s forehead, watching as the peacekeeper caused him to suddenly hurl into the ground. Hinata felt something in him snap, and he ran in front of Kageyama instinctively, stretching his arms out to defend him. “Leave him alone!” Hinata screamed, with eyes watering but teeming full of resolve. It didn’t matter that the peacekeeper was armed with a gun and that he could shoot Hinata at any moment. It didn’t matter that Hinata knew he shouldn’t stand up to a peacekeeper.  He ignored all the stories he’d heard from all the other children and the grown-ups. His main goal was to protect Kageyama, and in his ten year old mind, that was the most important.  
  
In a split second, Hinata was on the ground and his cheek was burning with a numbing, tingling sensation. He feels Kageyama shift beneath him, shaking slightly, and Hinata thinks he saw the peacekeeper take a step forward.  
  
Hinata crawls over in a half-dazed state from the blow to the face, situating himself in front of Kageyama again, spreading his arms out to protect him. “I said leave him alone!”  
  
The peacekeeper is surprised, but laughs at this. He must be in a good mood, because he doesn’t hit Hinata again with the end of his gun. He doesn’t even flinch at Hinata’s insubordination; he just seemed amused at the scene playing out in front of him. It must have been funny, seeing two ten year old boys pining over an old, near unusable volleyball.  
  
The peacekeeper bounces the volleyball in his hand, then smirks. He puts his rifle aside, walks over to a nearby cliff and mercilessly throws the ball over. _

_Hinata scratches at the ground, tensely running his fingers through the dirt, biting his bottom lip as he listens to the sound of the ball descending down the slope.  
  
The default area Kageyama and Hinata had chosen to play in was situated near a steep hill in the forest, where the ground suddenly dipped into a sharp precipice-like slope. There was a small river at the bottom of the cliff, but no one ever attempted to get anywhere near it since going down the sloping hill was incredibly risky. There were sharp roots, edges of trees, boulders and other dangerous things that went unseen by the human eye._

_But then Hinata had heard a splash, and he knew the ball was gone and that they had no way of ever reaching it again.  
  
“Go fetch.” The peacekeeper taunts, exposing a toothy grin. He then leaves Hinata and Kageyama in the dirt, but not before turning his head and spitting in their general direction.  
  
Hinata looks down at Kageyama, gently, but awkwardly putting his hand on the other’s shoulder. Hinata feels depressed in light of the circumstances, but he’s happy they’re both still okay. Kageyama, however—flinches.  
  
“K-Kageyama”, Hinata starts, “We’ll—“_

_Hinata saw a flash of Kageyama’s  midnight blue eyes as he trembled, his hands clutching the cold ground beneath him. He could see how glazed and red the whites of Kageyama’s eyes were, how his lower lip shook, and how Kageyama winced, craning his head up to stare hard at the cliff where the volleyball had just been thrown off like nothing but a piece of garbage._

_Seconds after, Hinata noticed that Kageyama’s eyes were different.  
_They were empty._  
  
The life had left them._

_Kageyama pushes himself up and off the ground quickly, wipes his face, and without looking back, runs home, with defeat plastered all over his features.  
  
_  
  
Kageyama was never the same after that. He didn’t smile, and he wasn’t the same Kageyama that Hinata played with for years before. The shy Kageyama that worked so incredibly hard to finish his chores just so he could spend a few minutes to play with Hinata was gone. The happy Kageyama, the one that only fully came to surface the moment they played volleyball had disappeared.  
  
Kageyama’s personality grew worse as the years went by, enduring several deaths, several reapings and several cruel peacekeepers until his personality morphed into what it is now. His hatred and attitude towards the Capitol only grew, and it never ever stopped growing.  
  
Hinata had approached him once, finally deciding to question him on the matter. Kageyama never gave him a straight answer, never _ really _explained anything to him. All he said was: “_ The last ones standing are the victors. Only the strongest. If you want to be the last one standing, become strong _.”_

 _And with that, he left._  
They never played volleyball again.

* * *

He steps lightly, uncertainly onto the train that supposedly transferred them to the Capitol. Hinata is trailing close behind Daichi, like a child hurriedly following after his father. He is bowing his head and peaking around the bigger male because at the moment— he feels protected and more secure with Daichi in front.  As expected, his gestures around Daichi do nothing to help him in procuring any kind of idea of what his new surroundings are, because he cannot see anything from this angle, only the backside of the escort. ( _Takeda_ , he thinks his name was, if he was remembering correctly.) It didn’t quite help that Hinata’s eyes were naturally drawn to all the colors on Takeda’s person, iridescent greens and blues—not to mention his goldenrod, turquoise flecked hair.  
  
Hinata can sense his stomach churning, rumbling in uneasiness as he grimaces at the situation. His fists are sweaty and clammy and he feels inexplicably cold, no matter how much he coils into his jacket to relieve it. It isn’t until the moment his feet touch the plush, bouncy carpet, that he instantly forgets all present ailments and pauses in awe at the sight in front of him.  
  
“Uwoooooooah…” He breathes, unable to form coherent thought. They are surrounded in total _luxury_ , things that he couldn’t even begin to dream about in his wildest imagination. He blinks slowly, trying to process his surroundings, mouth agape, and gingerly, though not realizing it, takes hold of Daichi’s sleeve.  
  
Takeda proceeds to show them around the train car, waving his hands somewhat theatrically at the extravagant surroundings— the bright, opulent, heavily detailed chairs and the long, glossy wood tables filled to excess with food, all arranged in intricate, delicate ways. Hinata’s eyes stay affixed to the table for several minutes, because in his entire life, he had never seen such an abundance of food just waiting to be devoured. There is an immense chandelier hanging over in the area Takeda designates the “sitting area”, with various colored jewels hanging down it, glistening in the light. Takeda is gesturing towards the designs and carvings that are on the table, emphasizing how magnificent and unique each one is. He seems _unbelievably_ excited about it all; even though Hinata cannot imagine _why,_ because Takeda is a citizen and must be used to such extravagancies. Still, Takeda’s eyes continue to sparkle in revelry while he simultaneously clutches at his chest.   
  
Hinata realizes that upon closer inspection and after of course getting over the initial shock of it all, everything now just seemed  _stupidly_  and needlessly shiny.  
  
He peers over at the overdramatic escort, observing him from head to toe. Hinata mutters incoherently to himself, pouting deeply, again coiling up into his jacket.  
  
This guy is definitely the dramatic type. Is this how _everyone_ is in the Capitol…?  
  
Although barely a few minutes have passed, Hinata is already struggling to listen. His head is swirling, though his eyes and mind are desperately processing everything around him. He cannot comprehend what the apparent “big deal” was about a table that had carvings and designs on it—a table was a table. To him, it was an unbelievable waste of time having to painstakingly create such details, time that could be preciously utilized elsewhere to help others in the district.  
  
Why do you even _need_ to have designs on tables? As long as you can eat on the table, it should be okay, right? _Actually_ , as long as you can _eat,_ period, it should be okay. The table is optional.  
  
Hinata is investigating the corners of everything, now gaining slightly more confidence and pulling away from Daichi, although he makes sure to remain within a foot of him.  He notes that this train car seems endless and that he wants to explore it all, but his stomach is grumbling and he (and his nose) still cannot believe the surplus of food in this room alone.  
  
 “Oh, we’ll also be going _two-hundred miles_ per hour, and believe me; you’ll barely be able to feel a thing!” The escort nearly shrieks in delight, but thankfully, is able to contain himself.  
_  
Two hundred miles?_ Hinata nearly crosses his eyes in disbelief, tilting his head at the escort and waiting for him to take it back, assuming he had been japing all along about the matter. Takeda doesn’t recant his words. Instead, he continues on to describe how pleased he is about something called ‘crown molding’.  Hinata thinks that he saw Daichi roll his eyes at this, and by the time Takeda is done, Daichi’s hands are crossed tightly against his chest.

Anyway, Hinata can barely wrap his head around all the _food_ around them, let alone _two hundred miles an hour_. He didn’t care about ‘crown molding’, whatever it was (even though secretly he had pictured the mold that grew on rotting materials, adorned with crowns).  
  
“It’s all just absolutely wonderful, isn’t it?” Takeda turns to them, smiling cheerfully, swishing his hair back and unintentionally making the turquoise flecks in his hair shine even brighter. “While it's true you were reaped,” Hinata grimaces anxiously at this, clutching his stomach. “You’ll be able to enjoy all of _this_.” He is animatedly gesticulating at everything in the room, looking back at them at certain intervals in attempt to enthuse them as well.  Obviously, it didn’t work, not that the escort had noticed. “Quite different from back home, don’t you agree?”  
  
Daichi is outright emotionless throughout Takeda’s excessive, uninteresting monologue, but he smiles gently at Hinata when he notices his discomfort.  He moves closer to Hinata, closing the space between them, nudging him in the shoulder comfortingly. Hinata smiles.  
  
It _does_ comfort Hinata to be paired up with Daichi, and it makes him feel relatively relieved, in light of the circumstances. Daichi may not have been as forthcoming as Sugawara, and he does seem a bit more strict _,_ but Daichi was always nice and completely reliable. The supportive kind.  
  
“I’m going to get Keishin,” Takeda states, beginning to stride away from them, but not before regarding an ornate vase on a pedestal. He sighs to himself, suddenly seeming weary. “Probably already drinking…”  
  
K-Keishin?  
He must’ve been speaking aloud, because Daichi promptly answers. “Probably our mentor.”  
  
That’s right. Hinata can feel the rush of apprehension overwhelm him again, although this time, instead of feeling paralyzed and cold, his body straightens and he pursing his lips determinedly, in a mix of nervous excitement and resolve. The mentor was _sure_ to help them get through this. The mentor’s goal was supposed to teach them how to win this, because _he_ had won it once before. It _wasn’t_ impossible. He and Daichi really could make it back home.  
  
Daichi’s eyes slowly shift over at Hinata, and he notices that Hinata is getting pumped up, bouncing lightly on his feet. Without saying anything, he walks over to the table, picks up (of all the extravagant things set out on it) a plain loaf of bread, then hands it to Hinata.  
  
“Eat,” He says softly, smiling amiably at the small, orange headed boy. “You’ll feel better.”  
  
Hinata nods rapidly, accepting the proffered bread before shutting his eyes in sheer bliss the moment the bread had touched his tongue. He hasn’t had bread in almost a year. That is, he hasn’t had bread that hadn’t gone stale or had been thrown into the garbage first.  
  
It’s during the time he is swallowing when the car door abruptly makes a sound, sliding open and signifying that someone is entering.

It _isn’t_ Takeda.  
  
The man has blond hair, clearly unnatural, because his dark roots were showing at the edges of his ears. The color seemed more ‘natural’ in application though, because it didn’t glimmer or have a plastic-like sheen like Takeda’s. Simply put, it looked like normal hair. It spiked up in the back, held down in the front with a headband of sorts. He is dressed in lavish clothing, a crisp, white collared shirt and nice pants, though absolutely nothing eccentric in color like Takeda. Despite his expensive clothing, he still looked sloppy and unkempt, his shirt wrinkled and barely buttoned down. When he turns his back to them, Hinata and Daichi can see how it spills over his pants where it isn’t tucked in properly. The man barely spares them a glance, sauntering over to the liquor table.  
  
Hinata stares over at him, mutely watching as he takes another large bite out of his bread. The room is silent, with the exception of his chewing and noises of content. The man, their mentor, had just walked in with a slight sway in his gait _and_ a cigarette in his mouth. Hinata thinks he looks…drunk... and _sketchy,_ for lack of a better word.  
  
_Is this guy really their mentor?_

* * *

  
Hinata glimpses up at Daichi for some kind of indication of how he should react. He is relieved because Daichi’s stoic expression does not change, and it seems their mentor’s disheveled appearance doesn’t deter him. This reignites a newfound eagerness in Hinata, who is now keen to just get on with it.  
  
Once their mentor takes a seat, Hinata follows zealously, pulling out a chair and sitting in front of him. “Are you our mentor?” He asks immediately, leaning his arms up onto the table, forgetting about introductions.  
  
The man looks up a little, pouring the alcohol into a large glass, embossed with some kind of feather-like pattern.  He finally speaks, although his voice is slightly distorted due to the cigarette in his mouth. “Ukai Keishin.” He pauses, then adds as an afterthought, with eyes barren of emotion, “Congratulations.”  
  
_So I guess he_ is _our mentor!_ Hinata reasons, before grinning to himself and curling up his hands. He conveniently ignores the congratulations, figuring the mentor might not have intended to say it. “I’m Hinata Shouyou and that’s Sawamura Daichi!” When there is no response, Hinata continues on. “So what do we—“  
  
“Wait”, the man replies, taking the cigarette out of his mouth and settling it between his fingers. He observes it for a moment, rolling it slowly in between his index and middle finger before raising his eyes to them. “...Not so loud. I've got a headache.”  His voice remains monotonous, if anything, bored and detached.  "...Besides, most of you aren't this keen to get started."  
  
Daichi regards him severely, leaning back into his chair, taking in an exasperated breath. Hinata pouts indignantly, pointing accusingly at the man. “You’re our _mentor_ , right? You'll teach us how to win this, because _you_ did once, right? I mean—”

Hinata hesitates when a pouring sound interrupts his train of thought.  
  
Ukai is adding more liquor into the glass. What is _with_ this guy?  
  
Hinata leans in closer from where he is sitting, attempting to close into their mentor as much as humanly possible with the table between them. Ukai still doesn’t answer, doesn’t even react, and Hinata can feel himself slowly getting frustrated. “Aren't...you supposed to help us?!" He gestures wildly between them as if prompting the older man to reply.  
  
“ _Help_ you?” Ukai sounds as if he is surprised by the plea. He chuckles, then glances back over to the liquor table he approached earlier.  
  
Hinata frowns. “Yeah—“

Ukai muses for an instant, seeming to find something humorous. He then looks up at Hinata with his dark, glazed over eyes. “Let's see then. Had some idea for advice earlier...” His voice is purposely airy as he lifts his drink to his lips, swirling it lightly before taking another sip. “ _Ah_ , that's it. Embrace the probability of your imminent death…”  
  
Affronted, Hinata opens his mouth to retort, but Ukai smirks and leans towards him, almost provokingly— breath laced with both alcohol and nicotine.  
  
“And know _in your heart_ , that there’s nothing I can do to save you.”  
  
Hinata is gaping, rendered speechless by his blunt, scathing response. Daichi is calm, _too_ calm, Hinata thinks, and he is leaning back even more in his chair, crossing his arms firmly. Daichi responds instead of Hinata. “Right. Then if you're not here to do your _job_ , what's your reason to—? ”  
  
Ukai smiles confrontationally at him. His glass is emptied already—again—and he is now raising the cigarette up to his lips, taking a long, slow swig. He makes an ‘o’ with his lips and breathes out leisurely. The smoke gradually begins to travel over to Hinata and Daichi, assaulting their noses with the overpowering smell of nicotine. Hinata scrunches up his nose, flails in attempt to cover it and then coughs involuntarily. Daichi remains unaffected.  
  
“ _Well,_ it takes a while for this kind of liquor to reach home.” Ukai answers simply, flourishing a hand up for emphasis. His voice is again muffled because he had put the cigarette back into his mouth.  
  
This seems to be the last straw for Daichi, because the next thing Hinata knows, there is a sudden flash of movement. Daichi is reaching over angrily— maybe to throttle Ukai— or maybe just take his bottle away, Hinata isn’t so sure.  
  
He realizes then that Ukai has extraordinarily quick reflexes because there is another flash before Hinata sees Ukai’s bare foot (what, the guy isn’t even wearing _shoes_?) on Daichi’s chest to impede him from advancing. Ukai has the cigarette resting between his teeth, staring up at Daichi with an unimpressed look, as if Daichi’s actions had caused him nothing but a mere inconvenience.

“Uwooooahhhh,” Hinata responds with a high-pitched tone to his voice, eyes widened in admiration of the mentor’s skills.  
  
Ukai grits his teeth, clearly annoyed with the situation and evidently ignoring Hinata’s pleased reaction. He turns his head, removing the cigarette from his mouth and again settling it between his fingers. “You made me spill my drink,” he says quietly but vehemently to Daichi, with brown eyes flickering up in an instant rage.  
  
Daichi narrows his eyes and looks as if he is about to say something, because his lips are beginning to move. Ukai unceremoniously pushes himself up out of the chair, dusts himself off using the hand holding the cigarette and leaves with a drunken swagger.  
  
Daichi immediately follows after.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
...  
  
That night, Hinata sleeps in what has to be the most _comfortable_ bed in the world. It isn’t sinking down towards the middle, there aren’t any strange feeling spots and he can’t feel the springs digging sharply into his back. But somehow, this bed and the exorbitant blankets and pillows surrounding him (probably more than ten on this bed alone) seem to suffocate instead of comfort him.  
  
He can’t sleep. He stares up at the ceiling, which seems to be engraved with more of those sophisticated designs that Takeda enjoys so much.  He wonders if their escort’s room was this luxurious, and if it was— how the man or _anyone_ for that matter, could even sleep surrounded by it all. Immediately, Hinata shakes his head free of the thought, not wanting to focus his time on Takeda.  
  
It isn’t long before Hinata’s mind lazes over to a certain, dark haired individual. He ponders what Kageyama could be doing, or if he’ll be watching the Hunger Games when they finally start. He hadn’t really noticed Kageyama pay much attention to the games over the years because Kageyama despised anything to do with the Capitol. Hinata scowls when his memory flashes to a time when Kageyama pointedly refused to ever watch the Hunger Games. Kageyama had said he did not want to support it—so he wouldn’t be watching, encouraging the event to continue.  
  
Did he still feel that way now?  
Would he watch because Hinata volunteered for him?  
  
_“The last ones standing are the victors. Only the strongest. If you want to be the last one standing, become strong.”  
  
_ Was Kageyama talking about the Hunger Games that time? Or was he talking about something else?  
  
Hinata rolled onto his stomach uncomfortably as he scrunched his forehead in confusion.  A few seconds later, he is reminded of the hasty kiss he and Kageyama shared—and he finds himself pouting and thinking that maybe he shouldn’t have done it after all. Still, it was probably a good thing that he had gone through with it—because he was likely never going to see Kageyama again.  
  
Blushing furiously, he takes his hands and hits both sides of his head, as if trying to get rid himself of the embarrassing memory. When it doesn’t work, he narrows his eyes, before sighing and rolling over onto his back and finally sitting up. He cranes his head towards the door and eventually decides to take a small walk, even if he’s only going into the car next door. Maybe some movement would do him some good, and hopefully stop his mind from conjuring up more (secretly cherished) memories with Kageyama.

* * *

  
To his surprise, Daichi is there in the living room car, sitting on the couch, with his feet casually up on that table Takeda was describing earlier.  All lights are off, but the windows on either side of them are large and clear enough to allow the moon’s rays to wander in, giving the inside of the car a soft, ethereal glow. Aside Hinata, there is a particularly large stained glass window, projecting colored lights on the floor in response to the bright, lunar beams of light. Hinata can still barely feel any movement beneath his feet (it seems Takeda knew what he was talking about), and it makes him grin, hopping over to the other tribute.  
  
“Can I sit?”  
  
Daichi, who seems unphased by his sudden presence, looks up and smiles at him, patting the area next to him. “Can’t sleep?” He asks, resting his hands on his lap.  
  
Hinata nods in affirmation, then eyes him curiously. “What about you? You can’t either?” Hinata turns, shifting as he makes his way behind the table situated in front of the couch, sitting comfortably next to Daichi.  
  
Daichi chuckles. “This place is so luxurious, it’s ridiculous. It makes me nervous.”  
  
Hinata smiles excitedly, somehow elated that Daichi had felt the same. He gestures between them, before shaking his head at the surroundings. “Me too!!”  
  
Daichi laughs as Hinata wrings his hands, commiserating with him. They talk about their day, all the food they’d been able to eat, and in general, everything _except_ the Hunger Games.

It doesn’t take long for them to quiet down, voices replaced by a comfortable, silent lull in the room.   
  
Hinata hesitates, biting his bottom lip, unsure of himself. “Hey Daichi…” He is lifting his legs in an upward then downwards motion, in attempt to release excess energy.  
  
“Mm..?” Daichi has his eyes shut, but it’s clear he’s listening. His head is craning back on the top of the sofa and now his arms are crossed on his chest. Outwardly, it seems Daichi is completely calm, but his constant position changing is making Hinata wonder if he is feeling more tense than he is letting on.  
  
“Why… did you volunteer for Sugawara..?” His voice is quiet and there’s a quality in Hinata’s voice that nonverbally tells the other that he doesn’t need to answer if he isn’t comfortable.

Daichi opens his eyes, but appears unperturbed by the question.  
  
“Hm,” he ponders for a second, before side-glancing at Hinata. “Instinct, I suppose. I had a dream he’d be reaped this year. I don’t want him to do this.” Now, Daichi is rolling his shoulders back. “I’m ready for it, I think. More ready for me to do it than him, anyway.”  
  
Hinata sulks at him, feeling like that wasn’t a full answer. Still, he doesn’t prod. After all, he isn’t sure why he felt so strongly about volunteering for Kageyama, only that he needed to protect him. He knew he had strong feelings for Kageyama, but it was confusing and he doesn’t want to be questioned about it— at least not yet.  He wouldn’t have a word for it if he was asked to describe it. So instead, he settles for clumsily scooting over, closer to Daichi.

  
“…We’ll… be okay, right?” Hinata peers upward, turning his face towards Daichi, watching as the moon beams illuminated the sides of Daichi’s face. **  
  
**

Daichi glances over at him and from what Hinata can tell, is trying to be as reassuring as possible. He grins, almost paternally, then ruffles Hinata’s messied hair. “…We’ll try our best.”

* * *

.

..  
  
…  
  
Frowning at the offending light seeping through his windows, Hinata groans and rolls onto his stomach, yanking the blanket over his head. He and Daichi eventually retired to both their rooms after their talk and Hinata was _finally_ able to sleep (after irritatedly throwing all superfluous pillows and blankets onto the floor).  
  
After a few seconds, he cranes his neck to the left, pondering for a moment where he is. The surroundings are unfamiliar and his sister isn’t running inside to wake him. When he is hit with groggy realization, he sluggishly sits up, eyes opening to narrow slits because it is too bright to open them fully. Gradually, he makes his way out of his bedroom car, body hunched forward and hair going in all directions, more so than usual. He is dragging his feet and already he feels drained of energy.  
  
Maybe that bed was _too comfortable,_ he thinks, yawning loudly. He literally blacked out last night in complete exhaustion.  
  
Hinata rouses slightly when he hears voices in the other car, remembering with slightly more clarity the events that unfolded yesterday.  
  
“Then you start a fire..?” Even in his bleary, sleepy state, Hinata can hear the unease in Daichi’s voice. He lifts his hand to his mouth, covering another yawn threatening to escape, while lazily wondering if Daichi was afraid of fires. No, he couldn’t be. He’d seen Daichi before around fires, and he never so much as flinched. Still, the tone in Daichi’s voice sounded troubled. Hinata shrugged, not interested or awake enough to keep speculating about it.  
  
Hinata pokes his head into the car and as expected, sees Daichi and Ukai locked in conversation. Ukai currently has a stack of pancakes on his plate and is reaching to grab the syrup to pour liberally onto them.  
  
“You’ll die.” Ukai responds disinterestedly, running a hand through the ends of his hair. He is already pouring liquor into an even bigger glass than yesterday.  
  
Hinata takes a seat next to Daichi, who nods at him in acknowledgement. Hinata does his best to smile back at Daichi before staring up Ukai. Ukai looks the same as yesterday, but seems to have haphazardly put on a waistcoat. Whatever, Hinata is still too sleepy to understand what they’re talking about, but he is trying to listen because of the gravity of the situation.  
  
Hinata opens his mouth to join the conversation. “Why?” He asks, at first more in habit, than actually wanting to know why. He yawns again, this time, rubbing his eyes.  
  
Ukai glances at him, leaning back on his chair, making it squeak from his movements. “You’ll bring attention to yourself. The other tributes won’t waste such an _easy_ opportunity to kill you.”  
  
Hinata is jolted awake when his possible death is mentioned and he quickly grabs some sausage to eat in order to calm himself. When he realizes he hasn’t had real meat in what seemed like forever, meat that _hadn’t_ been half-eaten or near spoiled, his edgy look melts into one of complete bliss. “Wow, this is so good!” He is making guttural sounds of glee, licking his lips with delight.  
  
Ukai narrows his eyes, then smirks. He takes a mouthful of liquor slowly, his opposite hand tapping on the table.  
  
“What do you do then?” Daichi asks, sipping some water out of a golden cup that has gems adorned all over it. Hinata stares at it. Stupid cup. Why do _cups_ need to look like that?  
  
Takeda is sitting in the sofa in front of them and Hinata is surprised he didn’t notice him there, since to Hinata, his outfit seems even _more_ ludicrous today. From the back, Hinata can see that he’s layered at least four scarves around a high collar that covers more than half the length of Takeda’s head. All the scarves are bright, clashing colors created with different types of fabrics. He also seemed to be wearing exaggerated shoulder-pads that matched the style of his collar (a shiny black shade) too. Hinata didn’t even want to know what he looked like from the front.  His hair was annoyingly bright, today a bright lime green with yellow iridescence.  
  
“Search for refuge.” Their mentor responds straightforwardly. He seems to be done with his pancakes now, although he hasn’t really eaten much. Hinata narrows his eyes at the uneaten food. Ukai is lighting up another cigarette and flipping the lighter in his free hand.

After a few moments of getting himself situated, Hinata’s mind has finally dispelled all the foggy, haziness that wrapped around the part of his head that was still shaking off the deep slumber he had been in.  
  
That’s right. He was _reaped._  
He may never be able to go back home.  
  
He looks up at Ukai filled with a new kind of determination.   
  
“How do you find refuge?” It sounds like a stupid question, but to Hinata it isn’t. He wants to know how to survive. How is he supposed to know where to find shelter? Can he rely on his survival skills? Or will the arena be so different and strange that he can’t? What’s the best type of shelter to be in? There are so many things being thrown about in Hinata’s mind that it made it extremely difficult to concentrate. All Hinata knew was that at this moment, he wanted to know how to find that shelter. He wanted at least _one clue_ , _one hint_ to aid in his and Daichi’s survival.  
  
“Give me a chance to finish this first.” At this point, Ukai has put his lighter down onto the table in favor of his glass. He has the cigarette between his teeth, using his free hand to beckon towards Hinata. “Hand me that bottle behind you.” He said as best he could with a cigarette in his mouth.  
  
Hinata narrows his eyes. This guy is something else.

“But how  _do_ you find refuge? Is it easy to find? What if—” Despite Ukai's request, he persists, barraging their mentor question after question. He is glowering now, although it doesn’t register much as a threat.  
  
Ukai rolls his eyes, but does not concede. “I need a _moment_ to wake up _._ ” He clucks his tongue irately, a single brow raised up to emphasize his displeasure. His cigarette has moved to his hand and he’s staring piercingly at Hinata to _hurry the hell up and just grab the damn drink.  
_  
Hinata feels angry all of a sudden, tightening his grip around his fork, before slamming it forcefully into a napkin, effectively cutting down into the table. “Tell me!” Daichi tugs on Hinata’s sleeve firmly from under the table to calm him, before giving him a stern look that says, “ _Now is not the time_.”  
  
At the same time, from the front of the room, Takeda turns, looking scandalized. His eyes are wide behind his (bejeweled) glasses and he gasps exasperatedly. “That is _mahogany_!”  
  
Hinata feels like a child that’s just been reprimanded for being rude and immediately slumps into his chair.  
  
Daichi is right. He shouldn’t rile up Ukai and unintentionally make him storm off. They both need as much information as they can get.  
  
Luckily (or unluckily ) for them, Ukai is riled up enough to answer, his posture suddenly straight, turning his head to stare sharply at them.  
  
“You really want to know how to survive?” Their mentor's voice is heated, his brow rising in annoyance. He tightens his fingers around his cigarette as Hinata perks up, straightening in his seat. This time, Daichi does too.  
  
“People need to _like you._ ”  
  
What? Hinata’s eyes widen. _Why?_  
  
As if responding to his train of thoughts, Ukai smirks. “Oh, surprised, are we?” He turns his head to take another swig from his cigarette. “When you’re in there… in that arena and you’re starving, or you’re freezing and you’re wounded….” He trails off, his eyes looking glazed, as if lost in memory. He shakes his head, pursing his lips and continuing. “A match, medicine, _anything_ can mean the difference between life and death. _Anything._ ”

Hinata regards him stubbornly, as Daichi looks away in contemplation of Ukai’s revelation. His eyes are narrowed slightly, as if conjuring up ideas and plans inside of his head.

Ukai sighs, turning his head to take a quick swig of his cigarette. “If you want those things, you'll need sponsors.”  
  
“And _how_ do you get sponsors?” Ukai adds, as if mocking Hinata’s previous barrage of questions, “you need people to  _like you enough_ to sponsor and send things to the arena to help you out.” He shoves his cigarette into a tray on the table, effectively burning it out. Finally, Ukai gets up; swaying over to the aforementioned bottle he wanted Hinata to grab. “And you,” he scoffs, pouring the liquor into his emptied cup, “You're not doing too well.”

“Tch,” Ukai brings the glass up to his mouth, mumbling as he glared at both Hinata and Daichi. “ _One_ tribute from District Four— Aoba Johsai— won because he had _so many_ damn sponsors. Think about that.”

Hinata, prior to Ukai’s sudden elucidations, had several questions. _Now_ , he has none. He feels deflated, and somewhat weary from Ukai’s account. As a result, for the rest of breakfast he sits sullenly, poking at his food stubbornly while Daichi and Ukai talk about strategies once inside the arena.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

A few hours later, Takeda speaks, straightening up excitedly in his seat. Ukai, seated aside him moves slightly, but is nowhere near as thrilled. “Ah!”

Ukai averts his gaze from the escort, choosing instead to flip his golden lighter backwards and forwards in his hand, as if ignoring the escort’s proclamation.

Hinata can tell that there is a smile on Takeda’s face, simply from the ecstatic sound of his voice— even if he is not looking up at the man. Hinata’s still pouting.  
  
“We’re here!”

Daichi rises from the table to gaze out the window. At first, he looks interested, then slightly stunned—if only for a few seconds. Hinata props himself up on his chair, before swinging his feet up and jumping off to follow after Daichi curiously. When he reaches the window, peering out on the tops of his toes, his eyes widen at the sight.  
  
There are people everywhere, almost mob-like, cheering and waving joyously at them. They all appear ridiculous (even _more_ ridiculous than Takeda), all dressed in Capitol Couture. Hinata furrows his brows, not sure of how to react to the sea of clashing colors, wild accessories, odd hairstyles and ostentatious clothing. Even from where he is standing, he can see the fluid movements of the crowds, the dramatic waves and curious eyes (some adorned with oddly shaped eyelashes) all directed at Daichi and him. He felt like a commodity, like a new toy rather than a human being.

Daichi smiles handsomely at the crowd (though Hinata can tell that it is forced) and waves.

The crowd goes _absolutely wild_. A few of them even look like they’re passing out from swooning over Daichi.  
Hinata blinks, glancing at Daichi, before glancing back at the crowd.  
  
“You might want to follow his lead", Ukai states in monotone from the couch, brandishing a cigarette into the air. “...Because it looks like _he_ knows how to play the game.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note [M]: Chapter 3! We've looked over this chapter like 10 times please take it away!!
> 
> Author’s Note [K]: Thank you to everyone who's continued to read and comment to this story this far! Almost every chapter will start with a "premise" of some sort; it could be flashbacks like this one, or just the character's thoughts on relationships. It's just one way we can keep the relationships developing, even if they're not physically together, and it's another way to see what type of world they live in. (Also I personally really love the "That is mahogany!" line, as well as the "Imminent death" line in the Hunger Games, so I hope you don't mind its inclusion with Ukai and Takeda in this chapter.) The next chapter they will be in the Capitol! ^_^
> 
> Thank you again for all your support!  
> Any feedback is appreciated!  
> Have a wonderful day! <3


	4. Sawamura Daichi

4\. **Sawamura, Daichi  
  
**_Daichi chuckles as his companion shudders again, rubbing his pale hands together in a fiercely determined attempt to warm himself. “This is getting ridiculous,” Sugawara starts, grimacing as a shot of cool air swishes by them. “The winter came months earlier and now it looks like it’s going to stay for good!”  
  
Daichi smiles and gazes up at the sky, reveling at the freshness the icy air provided him. He had always liked the crispness of the air during the winter—loved how the winter felt much more liberating than any other season of the year. Compared to the thick—almost suffocating—humid atmosphere the summer provided, the frigid air was a welcome guest.  
  
He parts his lips, letting out a puff of cold air. “It’s December, of course it’s still cold.”  
  
“But it started getting cooler towards the end of July,” Sugawara counters, beginning to hunch pathetically. “It’s going to be difficult trying to salvage any kind of food, especially if this winter stays.”  
  
Daichi hums absently in response. Despite every effort to save and gather as much food and meat as possible to help with overall starvation during the harsher seasons, there still wasn’t nearly enough to go around. Even though they had begun preparing in early July, there was no increase in the yield of materials gathered.  
  
As if reading Daichi’s thoughts, Sugawara purses his lips. He probably knew there was little chance in garnering much in terms of quantity as well.  
  
“We’ll make it,” Daichi assures, lifting his chin marginally, letting the crisp air hit his face more fully. He nudges Sugawara with his shoulder, causing the other to gently sway in response to the action.  
  
“I know.” Sugawara’s answer is quick and positive, with no traces of uncertainty. He shuts his eyes, holds his head up just as high as Daichi, with a bright, genuine smile affixing his face. “We always do.”  
  
Sugawara doesn’t have a doubt.  
They never do.  
  
As the wind continues to pick up, Sugawara begins to curl up even more, hunching so much that it looks like he doesn’t have a neck. Daichi grins at the sight and reaches out, stretching a finger to poke at a small sliver of exposed neck that Sugawara isn’t able to hide from hunching.  
  
“Ee!” He jolts, pulling away and glaring up at him. “Daichi!”  
  
Daichi laughs whole-heartedly at the sight and almost instantaneously feels a soft jab of retort on his shoulder. “Sorry, sorry.” Daichi replies apologetically, though the mischievous grin remains glued on his face. Sugawara has _ always _been the type to get cold easily, especially around his neck.  
  
Sugawara narrows his eyes playfully. “You’re not sorry at all.”  
  
Daichi is still grinning. “Nope.”  
  
It isn’t long until Sugawara can no longer pretend to be angry anymore. He smiles too, letting out a small ‘hmph’. He rubs his hands together, before turning to regard the view in front of them.  
  
“It’s… nice.” Sugawara says, quietly. “That we can still be like this.”  
  
Daichi pauses, then gazes up at the sky again. Sugawara is right._

 _They were heading back from the frozen lake, after haphazardly attempting to go fishing. There was so little food that they decided it wouldn’t hurt to try, even though they knew there was scarcely much fish to begin with. They weren’t a fishing district by any means.  
  
Luckily, it wasn’t a complete waste of time. They were able to catch about three small fish after having spent several hours at the lake.  
  
Even in times like this, when hunger and starvation is imminent, they still managed to steal a few moments of happiness.  
  
_  
  
It was almost completely dark, even though it wasn’t very late. Daichi glances at Sugawara as a quiet air of silence slowly engulfs them. Sugawara’s shivering is becoming more apparent, and by this time, his lips are beginning to quiver.  
  
“…I could go on my own tomorrow.” Daichi proposes absently. “So you don’t get sick.”  
  
Sugawara looks up at him surprised, then frowns. ”_ Sawamura Daichi _.” He says in a chastising tone, narrowing his eyes.  
  
Daichi swears Sugawara has the reproaching-parental look _ and _voice down perfectly.  
  
“You’re already shivering,” Daichi offers, but he can’t help but smirk at the other’s stubbornness.  
  
  “I w-won’t get sick!” The cold is making Sugawara’s voice waver, but his resolve remains strong. “Y-You’re not going on that lake alone, what if you fall in? What if something happens?” Sugawara is reprimanding him now, reprimanding him for even _ considering _the thought of going alone. “Or did you forget our rule of always going places—especially in the forest—in twos?”  
  
Daichi sighs, hanging his head in well-mannered defeat because in all his years of knowing the other, he has never been able to win an argument with Sugawara. Slowly, he turns his head to completely face Sugawara, grinning widely. “Suit yourself.”  
  
_  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
That night, Daichi sits in his room, shuffling through a small closet that is barely a foot in length and width. He finds a light blue dress. He scrutinizes it for a minute, then holds it up while squinting, then places it up onto his body, as if measuring it against his own. Sighing, he stands, lighting the wick on his kerosene lamp. It would have to do.  
  
Crawling onto his bed, he takes out a knife, a few pieces of thread and a small needle from his mother’s old sewing kit. Daichi always had a few needles lying around the house, an odd thread or random pieces of fabric tucked away in hidden areas. His mother loved to sew. At least, that’s what his father had told him when he was little. Daichi himself didn’t remember his mother, but felt like he knew her vicariously through his father’s lively stories. He always looked forward to hearing those stories, loved hearing about how they met, how they would joke and rile each other up, or even watch how his father’s face would soften ever so slightly when he described the little ‘quirks’ his mother possessed. Daichi had looked forward to those stories until they ended—when his father had abruptly died in a mining accident.  
  
Daichi would be up early tomorrow morning, which unfortunately, would be in a few hours. His eyes were heavy, drooping down, and tired from the expenditure of energy during the day. But still, he persists with the task on hand. He begins to use the knife as a makeshift scissor, cutting the dress and threading the needle.  
  
_  
  
The next day, Sugawara is knocking on Daichi’s door. He has a key, but knocks anyway for Daichi’s privacy. It is still dark outside, early enough to see that there are no signs of the sun rising. “Come in,” Daichi calls from the kitchen, knowing it is Sugawara. “I’m almost ready.”  
  
Sugawara enters the house, his pale cheeks already rosy from the freezing weather. His lips are quivering and he is shivering and _ hunching _again. It isn’t much warmer in Daichi’s house, but he seems content.  
  
Exiting the kitchen and putting on his thin, torn coat, Daichi sits and begins to pull on his tattered winter boots.  
  
“Have a good night?” Sugawara inquires, rubbing his hands together.  
  
Sugawara seems to take a moment to look up at Daichi, tilting his head, as if noticing something. (Hopefully, Daichi thinks, _ not _noticing the darkened bags under his eyes, or the overall fatigue emanating from his person). Quickly, to avoid suspicion, but in a way that he believes isn’t overtly obvious, Daichi stands. **  
**  
“Just a bit tired.” Daichi replies offhandedly, then swiftly rises and puts an item in Sugawara’s hands.  
  
“Eh?” Sugawara is surprised, looking down at the light weight. “What is it?”  
  
At this time, other than a very dim candle, there are no lights in Daichi’s house. Even so, Daichi is sure Sugawara can at least see its color. Light blue is much harder to come by nowadays, because of the expense of using dyes.  
  
Sugawara strains his eyes, lifting the object in front of him as it swiftly unfolds and drapes down. “…A scarf.” He looks up at Daichi. “When did you—“  
  
“Last night,” Daichi replies automatically, “I had some time on my hands.”  
  
Sugawara smiles slowly, before breaking out fully into a grin. “Thanks, Daichi!” He says happily, right before hugging him, the warm cloth serving as a light partition between them.  
  
“The fabric should give you some decent warmth”, Daichi begins, because it’s one of his mother’s winter dresses (though he chooses explicitly not to divulge this to Sugawara). “And it’s not very well-made,” He adds, regarding the blatant uneven stitches. “But—“  
  
“It’s perfect,” Sugawara whispers, tying it around his neck, feeling the fabric lightly with his fingers. He shuts his eyes and his grin becomes even wider. “…It’s perfect.”  
  
_

* * *

_  
_ There is a simultaneous wave of dismay and relief when they _finally_ exit the train. Despite the train’s grand appearance, Daichi is relieved he is no longer a prisoner within its confines— but also is disheartened that they are _already_ in the Capitol. He _couldn’t_ deny or ignore his fate any further. The Hunger Games were no longer some unwanted fleeting dream; it was no longer a fear that lurked, waiting to occur sometime in the future. It was here, it happened—and now, he was drowning in it, with no chances to escape.  
  
The Hunger Games were approaching quickly, even faster than he had initially anticipated. As he walks out of the train, his feet touch a plush, luxurious, blood-red carpet. It is softer and thicker than the carpet strewn across the interior of the train and it continues farther up, leading and disappearing to a place Daichi is unsure of. There are small, extravagantly detailed ropes situated on the edges of the red carpet to separate them from the ‘excitement’ of the people surrounding them.

His thoughts are interrupted by the sound of small, pattering footsteps behind him. Hinata is trailing close and in all honesty, it makes him smile. He’s sure Suga would coo at the sight, the little chick hastily following after.

“Wow,” Hinata declares, his breath hitching, clearly unable to hold in his amazement. He is making a high-pitched sound of excitement ( _Oooough!_ ), before running to peek on either side of Daichi, face still filled of astonishment. “So this is the Capitol…”

Daichi couldn’t blame Hinata for his curiosity. The Capitol was vastly different from the rustic feel of Karasuno. District Twelve was covered in trees, the air was more crisp—more clear—and there weren’t cement-like houses smashed up together in tiny spaces. The streets weren’t paved, and there were no grand carpets to greet anyone. There were no opulent statues, no glimmering fountains and no individuals decked out in ‘couture’— with clothes and shoes that didn’t make sense, with hair-colored like a sea of rainbow, or with faces plastered in mask-like makeup. This urban jungle felt like a prison, just like that train had, with air brimming full of tension and deceit.

Takeda is conversing with several of the people as they pass, turning over to the edges of those ropes that separated them from the citizens, something about how ‘quaint and lovely’ his time with the tributes has been thus far. He continues on, prattling about how he knows that _these_ tributes are special— before finally turning to address Daichi and Hinata.  
  
“I’ll be dropping you off to meet your stylist.” Takeda says spiritedly, before turning to Ukai. “Keishin, do you want to get something to eat, or do you want to head straight to the waiting area?”  
  
_Stylist?_ Daichi sneers, clenching his fists beside him.  
  
_Damn the Capitol.  
  
_ The citizens are peering at them on either side, all regarding Hinata and him from top to bottom, as if surveying the quality of a new type of meat. There is chatter among them, things like, ‘ _He has a good build_ ,’ or, ‘ _I think that little one is cute_ ’ and ‘ _Maybe I’ll vote for him._ ’ The people are reaching over the thin, rope-like separation between them, looking to better poke or “assess” Daichi and Hinata. They are innately interested, whispering to each other on their thoughts and personal opinions. It makes Daichi feel sick to his stomach, being treated like nothing more than something to bid on, only to be forgotten the instant he is killed in the arena—because he is replaceable—just like any other commodity in the Capitol. _  
  
_ Hinata narrows his eyes, before peeking his head out again from behind Daichi, taking hold of Daichi’s sleeve, to look at Takeda. “Stylist?” He questions, and then grimaces, like he has a sour taste in his mouth. He scuffs his feet on the ground childishly, pulling his hand away from Daichi, then clasping his hands behind him, pouting up at their escort.  
  
“You’ll have to be cleaned up first before you go.” Takeda says matter-of-factly, running a hand through his lime green, yellow flecked, tousled hair. He’s lifted his chin up in what could only be described as _ignorantly_ snobbish.  
  
“Cleaned up?” Daichi asks, raising a brow. He says the words a little too sternly, though no one seems to notice. They’re _already clean_ , thank you. It’s these _citizens_ that need to clean up. They look like crazy clowns that had recently been released from the wilderness.  _Actually,_ Daichi mused, _the wilderness was probably more civilized than this. Animals kill for survival—and these so-called “people” kill for pure enjoyment._

“It won’t be too bad”, Takeda assures, completely missing the point. Of course he would. He is turned back to Ukai now, talking about various eateries they could visit, something about, ‘ _Keishin, the Crème Brûlée there is absolutely divine!_ ’  
  
Daichi rolls his eyes before he and Hinata are finally ushered into a building. Ukai and Takeda walk off without so much as sparing them a glance, while Daichi and Hinata are left alone to fend for themselves.  Daichi turns his head, glancing at the seemingly sterile environment. Everything, floor to ceiling is made of steel, with tools on metal tables. To put it frankly, it looks like a torturing chamber.

The citizens working here are wearing tight, strange plastic-like suits while fussing with people on tables (probably tributes) who are being hosed down or ‘beautified’ to their ‘standards’.

Without so much as an introduction, Daichi feels a hand unceremoniously grab his forearm, and the next thing he knows, he and Hinata are both hoisted onto a gurney, rolled over to different areas, but still within earshot of each other.  
  
Daichi can hear Hinata yell indignantly, “ _what are you going to do with that_?” as he shuts his eyes, clothes ripped off of him with cold, gloved hands.  Upon being pushed over to his ‘styling’ area, he notices all around that there aren’t any curtains for privacy, no sheets to supply even the slightest ounce of decency. Why _would_ there be? The Capitol never saw the district residents as people anyway; surely decency and privacy weren’t things they needed to concern themselves with.  
  
He flinches, staring up at a person leaned over him—taking tweezers to his face, pulling an odd hair on his brow, while another rips a strip of warm paper with a glue-like substance from his leg. Daichi winces, grunting in pain while another grabs hold of a single piece of gauze to put up to his leg. He assumes he must be bleeding somewhere near his shin. On the _bright_ side, they at least seem to only be doing this to his legs and chest. _Thank goodness_ , he winces inwardly.  
  
Hinata yelps from afar and Daichi can hear the shuddering, metal clang as Hinata rustles about restlessly. “OW! Stop it, I’m— ** _OUCH_**!” _  
_  
Without warning, Daichi is suddenly hosed down with ice-cold water, as he finds himself jolting and hissing in discomfort at how high the pressure is. It feels like icy needles are being shoved into his body, and he begins to shake uncontrollably from the effects of the freezing water. The citizens are talking amongst each other idly, while another is yanking at his hair, washing it for probably the fifth time.  There is another strange person approaching him, making sure his face is clean shaven.  
  
_It’s already clean shaven,_ he thinks again, but of course, it isn’t up to “ _Capitol_ ” standards. With each yank of his hair, each callous pull of his body, he is reminded over and over again.

The people who live in the districts aren’t _people._

The citizens are _above_ the districts. The districts are nothing but animals, beneath them and dirty. The districts serve their purpose, only useful for providing the Capitol with its resources, and when needed, provide a source of entertainment.  
  
_They_ don’t count.

* * *

  
Each person that approaches him looks stranger than the next. Some have eyelashes that extend far from their faces, others with lashes that curl up into designs, like butterflies. There isn’t a single person with “naturally-colored” hair in the sea of magentas, oranges and blindingly bright greens in the room. Most of the individuals’ hair seems to stick up in odd areas with no real pattern.  
  
The only things they all have in common are their plastic-like suits and gloves.  
  
Probably to spare them from touching the “filth” from the districts.  
  
Hinata is mumbling loudly. He’s saying something about it being freezing and how _they can stop playing with his hair now, it’s perfectly fine._ Daichi smirks, knowing Hinata is probably gritting his teeth. He can still hear the metal vibrations of the gurney where the orange-headed tribute is laying, because most likely, Hinata hasn’t and _refuses_ to stop moving. Daichi can hear the people around him muttering to themselves, yanking (or at least he assumed they were yanking, because Hinata was yelping) at his limbs.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
After about ten minutes of being forced to lay inert, Daichi becomes impatient.  
  
“We’ll be taking you to your stylist now.” One of the people says, as if sensing his irritation. “It’ll be a few more minutes before the other tribute is done.”  
  
Hinata probably was taking longer to ‘get clean’ because he was squirming and complaining so much.  
  
Daichi smirks to himself.  
  
_Give them hell, Hinata.  
  
_

* * *

  
They are both secluded in a room, sitting in silence. Hinata is gingerly reaching down to his leg, wincing at every little touch. He scowls each time, his leg spasming away at any contact. “They’re going to make us put on shirts and cover our legs with pants anyway—and neither of us had that much hair to begin with! You could barely see anything!” Hinata complains, moaning at the unnecessary pain he feels. “And that water was so cold…”

Daichi chuckles in agreement and at the situation they’re in.  It was almost ironic, how they had spent their whole lives too poor to afford even the smallest luxuries, and now, having been chosen for the Hunger Games, were being ‘gussied up’ to Capitol ideals and notions of beauty, lavished with every luxury possible only to be thrown into an arena to face imminent death. It was similar, Daichi thought, to farmers fattening up the pigs they were readying for slaughter. In any case, Daichi would be just as frustrated as Hinata, but something tells him that for now, _he_ needs to be the strong one.

* * *

  
Just then, they hear a door slide open, letting a small, slender female inside. She seems completely emotionless and continues to slowly walk until she is situated directly in front of them.  
  
She silently observes them from behind her pink, frameless glasses. She is obviously a citizen, but Daichi notes that she doesn’t look _nearly_ as absurd as everyone else. She does not have any strange adornments on her eyes, no ridiculous hats. Her hair actually looks like it’s remained its natural color. She is dressed in black and silver—a tunic— with one cap sleeve and the other a thin strap.  She wore black, laced up thigh-high boots and silver stockings adorned with stitchings of feathers underneath with a single, golden necklace hanging low from her neck. The bright, gold color from her necklace is mirrored by a light line of gold eyeliner over the top rim of her eyes.  
  
“Who _are_ you?” Hinata asks in a petulant voice. She isn’t saying anything and Hinata must’ve gotten annoyed with waiting. He fidgets in his seat, visibly wincing at his legs, but at the same time trying to take on a more ‘intimidating’ stance.  
  
“Shimizu Kiyoko.” She replies quietly, pushing her fringe out of her face. Her voice is barely above that of a whisper. Both Daichi and Hinata need to crane their heads forward just to hear her.  
  
“I saw what happened…” She starts, before trailing off, looking down at her feet.  Daichi purses his lips, unsure of what she is alluding to. Her lips move noiselessly, before adding: “…And I apologize for it happening.”  
  
Daichi raises an eye, disbelievingly. Her apology makes him feel…annoyed. Hinata seems to be thinking the same thing, because he makes a small sound of skepticism and leans his chin on his palm casually, as if he is bored with her already. He is swinging his feet impatiently.  
  
“Oh?” Daichi replies coolly, keeping his temper in check. “You sure you don't want to _congratulate_ us instead?” He isn’t sure if it’s because he’s already feeling high-strung from the circumstances or if it’s due to the fact that he’s generally been taught _never to trust_ the Capitol and its citizens, but something feels disingenuous about her words. It feels like a mockery, like what he and Hinata did by volunteering was being made light, because it was a new ‘twist’ of drama from the tributes to supply to the Hunger Games.  
  
But maybe her words weren’t _quite_ disingenuous. It just didn’t _feel_ right. It didn’t feel right that a _citizen_ would actually “be sorry” or even show the least bit of concern over their current situation.  
_  
_ She raises her eyes to meet with his and Hinata’s. If she can sense their skepticism, she doesn’t show it through any emotion on her face. Instead, she stands her ground and looks straight at them with piercing, greyish blue eyes. “…I don’t see the point of that.” _  
  
_ Hinata folds his arms around the back of his neck while staring intently at her, still swaying impatiently in his seat. He is swaying so much that the seat is beginning to creak beneath him. His eyes are narrowed to small slits, appearing interested. “So what…you’re here to make us look cool?”  
  
Kiyoko pauses at this, regarding them both, then says sternly in her quiet voice: “…No. I make an impression.”  
  
Before either can reply, she begins to elucidate. “Each district usually dresses as per the resource they represent, the resource that they provide to the Capitol— or in the mascot, or image that has been associated with that district.”  
  
“Yeah,” Hinata answers, arms still linked behind his head. “We’re usually coal-miners, crows, or… crow’s covered with soot, or something really lame like that.”  
  
Daichi crosses his arms, leaning back onto his chair, legs spread open. He doesn’t care about looking cool. He just wants to get this thing going, even if he and Hinata were going to be dressed to prance around like idiots—nothing more than prize commodities, nothing more than entertainment. That’s all the tribute parade was about, anyway. Being gussied up so the Capitol citizens could see all the tributes for this year, pick their favorites and support them.  
  
“We're not going to do that.” Kiyoko’s answer is abrupt and suddenly assertive. She continues to gaze at them, unfaltering, straight in the eyes. She says nothing for a few seconds before finally letting out a small, barely audible breath. “Because people like you…,” she smiles _ever_ so slightly, her eyes lifting and glinting, “… shouldn’t be put in some stupid costumes.”

* * *

  
She is fussing over them both, making last minute fixes to their outfits. Daichi notes that she has indeed kept her word. They _don’t_ look ridiculous. They are dressed in black leather, embossed with angular feather designs (subtly including the crow mascot symbol their district is known for), with collars high up. Their shirts are zipped half way down to reveal some of their chest ( _“I guess they were gonna show a bit of our chests...” Hinata mumbles, still sore over the waxing_ ), and their hair is left nearly alone, albeit more tousled by Kiyoko with some kind of product to make it look more ‘windswept’. She also added subtle iridescent shimmers—similar to Takeda’s— Hinata with an orangey-yellow iridescence and Daichi’s with a taupe-like color, teetering between browns and greys with each motion of his hair.

  
Kiyoko approaches Daichi with a small control in her hand. “When you’re ready, press this. The fire isn’t real, so don’t worry.” It’s more difficult to hear her with the tributes rustling about them and the roaring crowd outside. It seemed more like a mob than a crowd, but Daichi is sure that the Capitol would beg to differ.  
  
“But it _looks_ real,” Hinata protests, his voice laced with nervousness.  
  
Daichi nods in agreement and turns to regard Kiyoko questioningly. “Are you sure we won’t burn to death?”  
  
“It has to look real.” She responds blatantly, crossing her arms over her chest, as if thinking their concerns were bordering ridiculous. “…That’s the point.”  
  
Both Daichi and Hinata scoff, but Daichi takes hold of the control anyway.  
  
“You will be heading out last.” Kiyoko adds almost inaudibly, before walking away to join the crowds. “Good luck.”

“Easy for her to say”, Hinata says from behind Daichi. “She’s not the one wearing these!”

* * *

  
Despite Daichi’s agreement with the smaller tribute, he tries to convince Hinata that it should be okay. Now that he thinks about it, why would they kill their tributes before the games themselves? Certainly they’d take precautions to make sure that _didn’t_ happen. The citizens needed to have their sick pleasure and wouldn’t let end it that easily. Of course not, that would be too easy, and there was no fun in already dead tributes that weren’t tossed around first.  
  
“Ready to go?” Daichi inquires, heading into a cart that resembled more of a chariot. He feels silly looking at its flamboyant design, crow feathers embossed and carved into the entirety of the black cart, but Hinata appears excited.  
“Wauuuuuuuuuuugh”, Hinata vocalizes in awe. “Do you think they made these just for us this year?” Daichi ponders the question for an instant, because he doesn’t remember district twelve having anything that looked remotely that impressive (though his own knowledge of the games was minimal, because he often didn’t stay to watch long). Even so, the designs on their ‘chariot’ are so remarkably different from the other tributes’ carts that it stands out, though theirs is completely black.  
  
In a few words, it looks… brazen and ominous.  
  
“Maybe.” Daichi responds, before shutting his eyes and taking a deep breath to steel himself.

He wonders if Suga will be watching.  
  
Hinata is squirming, suddenly nervous. From Daichi’s peripheral version, he can see the poor boy is beginning to clutch onto his stomach.  
  
“We’ll make it, Hinata”, he assures, gently raising a hand to firmly place it on his back.  
  
_We’ll make it._

* * *

  
Before they know it, the gates are opening and their ‘chariot’ begins to move.  Daichi tightens his grip on the handles while Hinata conjointly tightens his hold around his stomach as the tribute parade commences.

When they exit, the sheer amount of people cheering and staring at them is unbelievable. They are pointing and yelling to each other at the same time, sizing up each tribute. The sounds are so deafening that it almost feels silent, because Daichi cannot comprehend a single thing. He can see that an announcer is saying something— but as with the crowd, he cannot hear or understand her. It’s either too loud or he’s ridden with shock. Maybe both.  
  
There seem to be giant screens suspended hundreds of feet high on either side of the chariots, showing off each member of each district in full, high definition. Daichi can see his own face close-up on his right side, watching it mirror his movements as he tilts his head in moderate curiosity. He then takes a moment to view some of the other tributes. Many catch his attention, because _many_ look worryingly capable.  
  
Still, he can easily see the fear in each of the tributes eyes— even in the ones that are smiling proudly and nodding at the crowd, egging them on. Daichi shakes his head and clears it of all thoughts before eyeing his now ill companion.  
  
“Hinata,” he says as gently and as sternly as he can. Hinata looks up at him in response, removing his hands from his stomach, though he continues to hunch. Daichi nods at him. “Are you ready?”

Daichi pauses before stating with confidence in his voice: "Back straight, stand proud."  
  
At first, Hinata seems to question what he is alluding to, mouth agape. Daichi wastes no time in explaining and presses the button. There is a collective gasp in the crowd as everything around them becomes engulfed in flames. Their suits, their entire _chariot_ , are swept up in a bright encompassing of orangey, red fire.  They themselves seem to be a contained blue flame, emphasizing the core of the blaze. The iridescent shimmers Kiyoko added into their tousled hair seem to exude out of the flames, shining brilliantly with each movement.  Suddenly, Daichi feels empowered.

 _Make an impression_ , Daichi thinks. _Get sponsors_. With this, his expression changes into one of purpose.  
  
It’s at this moment— in the moment that nearly all the people are focusing solely on them, that Daichi clasps Hinata’s hand tightly. He stares into Hinata’s eyes, sternly telling Hinata wordlessly what their next move will be. Hinata nods in understanding.  
  
_Put on a show,_ his eyes tell Hinata. _Try as hard as you can._ At first, Hinata is surprised and confused at the sudden gesture. However, when he looks up at Daichi, standing tall and brave, something in Hinata’s own eyes flashes, and he seems to understand. Hinata nods, before tightening his grip on Daichi’s hand, firmly grasping them back as well.  
  
With that, they raise their hands above their heads, clutched tightly in a show of confidence and pride.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

* * *

  
“So suave,” Ukai is smirking, almost as if he is proud, but there is a hint of sarcasm in his voice. Daichi and Hinata are now with them in the back of a room after their presentation to the Capitol. It’s the first time Hinata and Daichi _don’t_ see Ukai with either a glass of alcohol or a cigarette.

Takeda is next to him, positively _beaming._ He’s dressed differently. His hair is no longer green and adorned with flecks of yellow; it’s a deep crimson red, embellished with flecks of gold instead. He is wearing a fitting leather jacket with all kinds of tactile accents, buckles, zippers in every place imaginable. The arm sleeves aren’t made of leather (instead, a soft stretchy fabric) embellished with feather-like patterns, and he can see Takeda’s shirt cuffs peeking out from under them. The jacket is open and it’s apparent that the escort has again layered colorful clothing on top of more colorful clothing. His shirts are unbuttoned at different lengths, dipping in depth the more they are layered. He has skinny-type pants on, a bright green (it made Daichi wince) with deep, crimson lace-up boots (with, _of course_ , gold laces to match the gold in his hair).

…It looks uncomfortable.

Daichi doesn’t know if he’s getting used to “Capitol Couture”, but for some reason, Takeda doesn’t look nearly as ludicrous as he usually does.  
  
“I _knew_ my tributes were special this year!” Takeda nudges Ukai playfully, as if he was saying, _ha, told you._ If Ukai noticed, he’s pretending not to— because he is looking away disinterestedly.  
  
Kiyoko is behind them, regarding them all with the same blank and seemingly detached look on her face. Daichi can tell she wants to say something though, so he continues to look over at her.  
  
“…It was amazing.” She states, blushing in embarrassment, staring down at her boots.  
  
Hinata’s nerves must have calmed, because he is smiling excitedly, pumping his fists. He is going on now, complimenting Kiyoko on her work in the costumes, asking her _how exactly_ she made the fire look so real. It seemed that Hinata was warming up to their stylist, a genuine smile finally adorning his face.

Daichi himself couldn’t help but feel grateful to Kiyoko as well. Her costumes didn’t make them feel like puppets in a show, it gave them the confidence and determination they needed to stand proud for themselves, and for their district. Unbeknownst to the Capitol and its citizens, they were saying for the world to see: “We do _not_ belong to you.”

“Didn’t think we’d be getting any compliments from you,” Daichi says flippantly, aiming his retort at Ukai, facing him so that the others couldn’t mistake the comment for them. Ukai’s smirk widens, as if happy to know the tributes from district twelve had some _nerve_ this year.  
  
“Well—“ Ukai pauses abruptly, mid-sentence, looking up.  
  
Surprised, Daichi and Hinata look at him and then follow this gaze.  
There is a tribute, staring at them, smiling in a way that can only be described as… _feline_. _Dangerously feline_ , if that’s possible. The man’s head is tilted slightly towards the left, as if eyeing them curiously.  
  
The tribute has unruly black hair that’s been gelled down (though it was obviously making a valiant attempt to stand again) and he had a partner that was smaller and much more unassuming. Said partner had blond hair (his black roots are beginning to show), and he seemed to be holding a game of some sort. Daichi isn’t sure if that hair was done purposely by the Capitol or if the tribute had done it himself.  
  
And honestly, playing a _game?_ Are the rest of the tributes insane just like the rest of the Capitol?  
  
Daichi narrows his eyes to glare at the taller tribute.  
  
Ukai pulls at them, gently, but firmly. “Come on. Let’s take this upstairs.”

“We’ll be going up to our rooms now,” Takeda begins to step towards a building of sorts, flourishing his left arm to notion towards the elevator, his combat boots clanking at the metal floor. He turns to them, grin sparkling white, “And because you’re from twelve,” he smiles, “ _you_ get the penthouse.

* * *

  
When the elevator opens and they stride into their ‘quarters’, even Daichi is momentarily amazed by the palatial surroundings. When Daichi realizes his positive reaction to the penthouse, he clenches a fist, finding himself irritated by the excessive surroundings— when there are people starving and dying in the districts.

“Ooooooooooooh!” Hinata gasps, in a raucous, but appreciate way. He peeks out from behind Daichi, (this is beginning to be secretly endearing to Daichi) similar to the way he reacted on the train and upon their entry into the Capitol.  
  
“ _I know,_ ” Takeda answers proudly, “isn’t it just _beautiful_? _Everything_ made here is at the _utmost_ quality with the _finest_ materials—everything around you unique—of course, nothing else like it in the world.”  
  
Daichi chuckles—because Hinata’s initial excitement dwindles immediately, having seen the odd modern-looking furniture. Hinata is mumbling, mumbling something along the lines of ‘ _of course there’s nothing else like it in the world, chairs don’t have to be all complicated like that_ ’ before running towards the tables in the dining room.

Takeda is unaffected by this (or simply didn’t hear) because he is now gesturing around the area, showing them the floor to ceiling windows, the panoramic views of the Capitol and the plush handmade fur blankets coating the couch situated in front of a grand fireplace adorned with some kind of crystalline substance that glistened with the chandelier’s light.

Daichi stares down at his feet. Even the floors are made of some luxurious substance, a substance he’s sure his father most likely mined for before he died. It could have very well been the _last thing_ he mined for before his untimely death. Daichi feels his feet tingle in warmth. Nonplussed, he raises a brow.  
  
“The floors are heated as well,” Takeda chimes, as if reading Daichi’s thoughts. “All the way throughout the entire area. _Amazing,_ isn’t it?”  
  
Ah, so that’s what it was.

Ukai saunters past Takeda, opening a medium-sized, lit-from-within compartment revealing several bottles of wine. Only the finest quality, Daichi assumes cynically.  
  
“ _Keishin_ ,” Takeda reprimands, resting his hands on his hips. He purses his lips and his eyes flicker behind his thick, bejeweled glasses, before Ukai rolls his eyes and scratches the back of his head.  
  
“I’m just checking if there’s enough to last through the night,” he replies boredly, before digging into his pockets for a smoke. “You know how _taxing_ all this mentoring business can be.”

Takeda turns back to Daichi and Hinata, “there is a specialized venting system as well, so even the smell of _nicotine,_ ” he says with a smile (making Ukai roll his eyes), “can’t be detected. Please feel free to look around and ask about anything! Dinner will arrive shortly.” Takeda is shooing Ukai from the mini-winery, leading him to some other room in the penthouse, probably the one farthest from the alcohol. His voice is distant the next time Daichi hears it, Takeda is scolding the other. “We already went to the bar a few hours ago!”  
  
Daichi’s eyes wander the room and he notices Hinata is in the living area, sitting on one of the plush couches Takeda was motioning towards earlier. Daichi notes that when Hinata sits on the couch, Hinata is initially surprised by its luxurious comfort, his eyes bugging widely (understandably, since there is _nothing_ like that back at home), before he lets out a heavy, tired smile, slumping and finally sinking into a depth of warmth and plush softness. He was probably much more exhausted that he thought.  
  
Daichi strides over, sitting next to him, surprised by how _comfortable_ the seats really are. “Are you alright?”                 

Sluggishly, Hinata opens his eyes, then grins brightly at Daichi. “I’m alright! We… we did really good at the tribute parade, I think.” Hinata looks down, playing with his hands before eyeing Daichi with a hesitant glance. “S… Sorry if… I mean…I was nervous.”  
  
Daichi smiles, shaking his head. He reaches out, ruffling Hinata’s hair affectionately. “Hey, you did fine. There’s nothing to apologize about. You were confident.” Daichi isn't lying, or saying that solely for the purpose of comforting Hinata in his time of need. Every word he had told Hinata was true.

At first, Hinata may have been nervous and seemingly ill, but the moment the flames burst around them, it seemed as if the smaller tribute was suddenly filled with determination, with pride and strength for his district. They had made quite the scene at the tribute parade, especially when they clasped their hands together, lifting their arms over their heads as the crowds screamed wildly in adulation.  
  
With Daichi’s words, Hinata is able to relax. He grins, hugging a bejeweled pillow (much to Hinata’s chagrin) and finally falls into a light slumber.

* * *

  
When Daichi is nudged awake, he is startled and nearly jumps out of his seat. Hinata is less subtle, flailing about and making a sound of distaste, the couch slipping on the ground at his sudden movements.  
  
Hinata is pouting his lips, curious—before his eyes widen in shock—because of the silent, eerie stillness the servant exuded. Their eyes seemed hollow, empty—almost _deadened._  
  
The servants –both wearing bright, crimson red—nod at them, then crane their heads towards the kitchen, still completely silent, without a single movement on their facial features. Takeda had ordered them to wake the two. Daichi finds himself staring intently at one for a few seconds, because he is sure he _recognizes_ the person.  
  
Takeda calls from the table, “Dinner is ready, come eat, you two!”  
  
“Who are you?” Hinata asks inquiringly at the servant, tilting his head and inching his face closer.  
  
“ _Hinata_!”  
  
Hinata cringes, turning his head towards the kitchen to find Takeda standing there, with a firm look plastered on his kind face. It isn’t a look they see often on their typically happy escort, but something in the way Takeda looks makes them both instantly obey. “Do _not_ speak to them. You only speak when you’re giving an order, understand?”  
  
Upon seeing Daichi and Hinata’s collective reactions (both with their heads bowed, filled with uncertainty and probably fear on Hinata’s part), he sighs, smiling lightly at them, like a teacher who had just chastised his students for doing something they weren’t aware was wrong.

“Just… come in to eat, alright?” Takeda adds softly, “everyone is hungry.”

* * *

  
When they reach the tables, everyone, including Kiyoko and her team of designers are there, digging into the feast in front of them. There isn’t a single part of the table that _isn’t_ covered with some extravagant type of food. The aroma is unbelievable. Daichi can feel the familiar sting of hunger settling into his stomach and he is grateful that at least today, he has the option to eat as much as he needs to.  
  
“Avoxes,” Takeda explains, as Daichi and Hinata look up at him. “That’s what they are. They rebelled against the Capitol; they’re traitors, defectors –deserters.” Takeda has an uncharacteristically serious expression on his face, his conviction clear. He _doesn’t_ pity or feel anything for these servants. They chose to rebel against the Capitol and these are the consequences.  
  
Hinata looks up at Takeda, a drumstick sticking out of his mouth. Ukai is swirling his wine, lifting his glass before taking a sip.  
  
“This is their punishment. Their tongues are removed and they are _not_ to be spoken to unless giving an order.”  He regards both Daichi and Hinata as severely as he can with his young face, pursing his lips and furrowing his brows. “Is that understood?”  
  
It is at this time that Daichi has an instant of clarity, realizing why he had recognized one of the servants. Sugawara and he were sitting—sitting in the place beyond the bordered fence as they always had—when they suddenly heard two people screaming in the distance. They immediately took shelter under the tall grass, but not before witnessing one of the individuals being shot mercilessly while the other was netted like an animal and carried away by a hovercraft. The victim had locked eyes with Daichi and Sugawara at the time, screaming desperately for help, as the hovercraft from the Capitol stole him away.  
  
Daichi clutches at his fork tightly, feeling angry and frustrated with the situation. Sugawara couldn’t be consoled after _for months_ after that.

“Eat”, Ukai tells Daichi, pointing his fork at him as if aware of his sudden silence. “You’ll need it for when you train tomorrow. You only have two weeks. If you want to keep any promises, you’ll have to be in tip-top condition.”

He did make a promise, Daichi thinks; he more or less promised Suga he wouldn’t die. He may not be able to keep that promise in the end, but he wanted to do his best for him. So even though he is sickened by the thought of what these poor people have gone through, even though he wanted to slam his fork down and yell at the top of his lungs, he swallows all of his emotion and forces himself to eat. He grimaces. Food that looked and tasted this incredible had _never_ gone down so heavily.  
  
Daichi doesn’t know how Hinata reacted to the story of the avoxes, having been lost in his own thoughts—but when he looks up at the other, he notices that Hinata too had straightened up after Ukai’s words. He must’ve felt the same way that he did.  
  
“This lobster is _amazing_ ,” Takeda says, eyes fluttering and reaching over for seconds. “Don’t you think they’ve just outdone themselves this year?”  
  
Kiyoko smiles in agreement. “…They have. Everything from District 4 is wonderful. But I especially love the variety of meat available this year.”  
  
“ _Top_ quality, I know! District 10 has outdone themselves with livestock this year, everything is wonderful!” Takeda replies, sipping out of his crystalline cup. He swallows, before smiling and returning to the feast in front of him.  
  
Daichi smiles mirthlessly. _Yes, everything is wonderful. The Capitol takes all valuable resources that districts had worked hard for at minimum to no wage, and they were left with the scraps, if they were lucky._  
  
“Tell me about your skills,” Ukai starts, interrupting the conversation as he cut into his perfectly marbled sirloin steak. “I hear you’re strong.”  
  
Daichi looks up at Ukai, noting that he might actually be interested in them as people, before taking another piece of his salmon and putting it up to his mouth.  
  
“He _is_ strong –and his defensive skills are awesome!” Hinata replies excitedly, waving his fork in excitement, “I bet he could lift Sugawara right up into the air—and Daichi… he’s smart too!” He swallows, attempting to digest his food before continuing, “And… and… I swear I saw him catch a knife while it was flying through the air!”  
  
Daichi had forgotten about that. He had asked to borrow a knife, and Asahi—, who meant to only toss it to him, had accidentally thrown it to him at nearly full strength. Somehow, Daichi had the reflexes to simply snatch it up mid-air (of course poor Asahi was flailing—panicking and apologizing non-stop after that).   
  
“A knife mid-air…” Kiyoko repeats, before cutting into her lobster tail, a small smile affixed on her face. “...Impressive.”  
  
“Sugawara?” Takeda responds kindly and genuinely interested, “Is that the one he volunteered for? He seemed very nice. Hm...and as for lifting him up into the air…” He seems to be thinking, probably gauging Sugawara’s size and probable weight mass, before he looks up. He nods approvingly. “That’s quite the feat.”  
  
Hinata is invigorated by Takeda’s response and nods wildly. “Yeah, and Sugawara’s _really_ cool too!”  
  
For a moment, Daichi chuckles, forgetting his surroundings. He decides to tell them about Hinata’s skills too, because although small, he knew Hinata had several important strengths. “Hinata is fast. He can speed through everything—obstacles at ridiculous speeds, like they’re nothing. He can jump too—jump at unnaturally and extraordinarily tall heights.” Daichi lifts his gaze to Hinata, smiling gently. “He also has amazing reaction time. Faster than I’ve seen from most everyone back at home.”  
  
Hinata gapes, his mouth opened embarrassedly. He smiles, before observing his food, poking at his dinner shyly. “W-Well…”  
  
When Hinata isn’t sure how to respond, he begins to eat again, alternating between obviously grinning happily and smiling timidly at the same time.  
  
“Huh,” Ukai starts, resting his fork on the center of his lip, causing his lip to be pulled down, insides showing. Takeda grimaces at the exposure (as well as the food in Ukai’s mouth) and clucks his tongue unappreciatively.

Ukai’s gaze lazes over to him. Outwardly, it doesn’t seem like he cares about Takeda’s little protest, but he pulls his fork away from his mouth anyway. “It sounds like you two have some great assets then. Be sure to hone those abilities during training tomorrow.”  
  
“Who were those guys looking at us?” Daichi asks promptly. Thinking about training made him think about the tributes, and inevitably, made him remember the earlier events of the day.  They were all simply talking about the tribute parade and how it went, when they were suddenly ushered inside upon the look of another tribute.  
  
“From district eleven,” Ukai is nearly done with his steak, but it seems like he’s reaching for another, “otherwise known…as Nekoma.”  
  
_Nekoma._

Of course.

Daichi had heard of Nekoma of course. Their rival, in nearly everything. You would think that the districts, the outlying districts especially—had enough on their plates, worrying about starvation and how to survive in general. Yet somehow, some way, a rivalry was born between the two—something about their district names, having to do with cats and crows. Apparently, during the Hunger Games, they sometimes exposed this rivalry for all it was worth. Neither district had won the Hunger Games in years though— and it wasn’t like it really mattered much at all.

Daichi wasn’t sure he cared. It was trivial. Sure, he had pride for his district, but he had other things on his mind. As long as they stayed out of each other’s way, at least until the Hunger Games, it didn’t weigh heavily on him. His main concern was surviving and protecting those close to him. _That_ was what was important. Not some stupid rivalry.

“Nekoma?” Hinata pipes up, moving onto the steak. He was eyeing Ukai for a while now, and probably decided that his chicken wasn’t nearly as exciting and as satisfying looking as that juicy piece of steak. “Aren’t they like our rivals or something?”  
  
“Yes,” Takeda says, smiling. “Though they don’t get _any_ special treatment. Their escort doesn’t let them have any extra snacks and desserts, and I do!”   
  
Kiyoko smiles, taking a sip from her water, nodding in agreement.  
  
“Just keep your eyes open,” Ukai replies. “They aren’t necessarily guaranteed to do anything against you— but it depends on the tributes. Sometimes they care about the rivalry, sometimes they don’t. Sometimes there’s even more of a brotherly truce—at least until the very end. The sort of… the enemy of my enemy is my friend, kind of thing. You may or may not be their first target.”  
  
Ukai is reaching for his wine, but before taking a sip, he raises his eyes, smiling up at Daichi and Hinata. “Oh, take that into consideration too. There are often alliances formed in the Hunger Games. I know it seems odd, but it’s usually a good means of taking out the stronger or even the weaker tributes. Like I said…Just keep your eye out and watch your back.”  
  
“Their names are Kuroo Tetsurou,” Takeda begins, somewhat changing the subject. He looks up at the coved ceiling, thoughtful, before speaking again. “Ah—he’s the taller one, with the hair that looks like it’s trying to stand up again.” Takeda takes the silk napkin, dabbing it on his lips daintily, before setting it down. “The smaller, pudding-headed one is Kozume Kenma.”  
  
Takeda is moving on, talking about all the other tributes and giving as much information as he can, with Ukai interjecting here and there with the knowledge he had.  
  
Daichi shut his eyes, attempting to process all the information they were receiving.  
  
“And then there are the Career districts. You know of them, right? Luxury districts— districts one, two and four.” He pauses, sipping his drink once more. “They train in an academy, then volunteer. At that point, they're lethal. They usually win it every year…” Ukai licks his lips, haphazardly grabbing a napkin to wipe his fingers with as he provides more description about the Career Districts.  
  
District 1,  _Shiratorizawa_. District 2,  _Jouzenji_  and finally, District 4,  _Aoba Johsai_.  
  
“ _Almost_ , every year.” Takeda interjects, pointedly, pouting his lips. “Anyway, I think we could use some dessert here!” He adds jovially. The rest of the table hums in agreement, while Takeda lifts a hand to beckon an avox. Takeda's interjections about dessert within Ukai's serious talk put together threw everything off, and Daichi wondered if Takeda truly knew the gravity of what the Games were.

Probably not, he decided. He _couldn't._  
  
Daichi sighed heavily. He really needed to make sure to get as much sleep as he could tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author [K]: OHOHOHO Suga's scarf was from Daiiiichi~! Oh my goodness, I feel like we’ve stared at this so many times. Please do leave feedback if you can, we would love to hear your thoughts. It also helps us update faster and it really encourages us to continue. ^_^
> 
> To those of you who have left behind feedback, kudos, came to read, etc. thank you very much! We really do appreciate all your support, and it makes us feel warm and happy inside! 
> 
> Author [M]: LOL This is late because I took 10 years to beta it. Unfortunately we plan on updating every few weeks, so thank you so much for all your patience!


	5. Tsukishima Kei

5\. **Tsukishima, Kei**  
  
_“Hm?” He stares down at the shorter male looking disinterested and annoyed, but at the same time, is fully aware that the other knew better than to take his outward expression too seriously. The freckled boy is standing in front of him, gingerly holding a small, beat up, wrinkled package in his hands._  
  
_“Happy Birthday!” Yamaguchi chirps, smiling brightly,_ too _brightly in light of their circumstance. Still, he has a slight bounce in his gait and Tsukishima tilts his head before eyeing him incredulously, attempting to voice his thoughts merely through his actions._

 _“Yamaguchi…” He starts, tentatively. Tsukishima is taciturn by nature and he knows Yamaguchi understands this.  
  
“Haha,” Yamaguchi chuckles, almost shyly. He looks down at the package settled on top of his own bandaged hands. “Well… it’s your first birthday since…” He trails off for a moment, scuffing his feet into the hardwood ground before craning his head up to hesitantly look up at Tsukishima. His eyes are darting from Tsukishima to the floor, to the package, to the floor, then back up to Tsukishima.  
  
Tsukishima sighs, visibly exasperated at Yamaguchi’s abrupt uncertainty and reluctance. By this point in their lives, Yamaguchi had almost _ never _hesitated around Tsukishima. They had known each other too long, gone through too much and seen too much—to even dabble in such stupid things. Awkwardness, hesitancy—they were all emotions Tsukishima found tiring, energy-draining and all together, useless. Yamaguchi and he had better things to do with their time than to prance around each other like school children._

 _Long story short, they were so comfortable with each other that whenever Yamaguchi_ did _hesitate (like he is now)— it_ bothered _Tsukishima—bothered him_ a lot _. So Tsukishima rolls his eyes, again emphasizing his irritation, all the while knowing full and well what the issue was. It makes him annoyed that Yamaguchi can’t just say it up front, but he figures he shouldn’t be surprised._

 _What Yamaguchi_ means to say _is that today is Tsukishima’s first birthday with_ just the two of them _, since Tsukishima’s mother had abruptly died the year before. Yamaguchi is nine (turning ten in little over a month) and Tsukishima, with today being his birthday, has just turned ten._  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_Tsukishima’s mother became sick sometime during the winter. It seemed like a common cold, nothing really to worry or fret about. Tsukishima had been making her soup with the last bits of cabbage they had, ultimately deciding to let her rest in her room with as minimal interruptions as possible. He had been keeping extra quiet throughout the day because he wanted her to get as much rest as she possibly could (and it reached the point where he and Yamaguchi were even whispering that day). It was a long while until he came to visit her, peeking into his mother’s room later that night carrying a warm bowl of soup in his small hands._  
  
_Tsukishima had tiptoed into her room, placing the soup gently on her nightstand, reaching out his hand to shake her lightly._

_She didn’t move, so he figured she was still tired. He eventually had just left her for the night, never admitting that he had snuck back, checking on her time and time again through a small sliver of an opening from the door just to make sure she was as comfortable as she could be._

She never woke up.  
_  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Tsukishima and his mother were the last living in their family for about three years (with everyone else dying from starvation or sickness) and Yamaguchi had always, _ always _been welcome to stay._

_Yamaguchi had been orphaned and on his own since he was five. It sounded improbable, for a child to be able to survive at that age, but when you’re in a place as dismal as District Karasuno, you find a way to survive. Maybe once in a while (though Tsukishima himself never relied on this)— someone would even take pity._

_That’s what he and his mother did.  
They took Yamaguchi in.  
  
At first, Yamaguchi would scuff his feet, look down at the ground, almost ashamed with having to stay with Tsukishima and his mother, constantly feeling like he was imposing. Tsukishima responded in the same way, rolling his eyes, tugging Yamaguchi by the collar and pulling him, albeit a bit roughly, shoving Yamaguchi straight into his home.  
  
Tsukishima’s mother seemed immensely thrilled with the idea of having an extra person in the house and she often said the same sort of things to Tsukishima about the matter. _ “It’s good for you to have someone here, Kei. Everyone needs someone to lean on every now and then”. _Tsukishima used to have a brother, his mother told him. Akiteru, she’d say. He died before he even turned one, contracting some sort of childhood sickness that could have been easily cured (had they_ had _the resources and money at the time). Sometimes Tsukishima wondered what kind of brother he would have been. Would he have been the supportive kind? The type Tsukishima could be proud of? Or would they be the type of siblings that argued all the time about everything?_

 _In any case, he figured Yamaguchi hadn’t_ really _been alone since he was five, since Tsukishima and his mother encouraged him to stay and live with them in their small house for good— instead of aimlessly wandering the streets hungry and alone.  
  
_  
  
Tsukishima cuts off his thoughts here.  
Better to end them and not risk getting emotional.  
He knew he probably _ wouldn’t _get too emotional anyway.  
It wasn’t in his nature.  
  
“I’m fine,” Tsukishima finally says, and he really is. He doesn’t feel melancholy at all, just indifferent to the entirety of the situation. That was how life here was in the districts, although he _ did _over- exaggerate every now and then, admitting that he was indeed somewhat jaded to his surroundings. Parents died, children were left orphaned, left to fend for themselves. He’d seen children as young as two wandering the streets, going from door to door asking for scraps. If a person couldn’t handle it, then they weren’t suited to be here. People who break easily aren’t suited to live this kind of life._

 _Heh. Not that they_ had _much of a choice to begin with._

 _Finally, he returns his gaze back up at Yamaguchi, taking the present, a mess of wrinkled old papers, and an old box that had long since lost its shape, tied together with a small piece of twine masquerading as a ribbon. Tsukishima raises a brow, staring at the smaller boy behind his square-rimmed glasses._  
  
_Yamaguchi laughs again, keeping eye contact with Tsukishima, but embarrassedly runs a hand through his hair. “I know, but it’s all I could find.”_  
  
_When taking the box, Tsukishima takes a moment to observe Yamaguchi’s hands in a way that isn’t overtly obvious. He’d always had a knack for that kind of thing, surveying people and situations— sometimes without even noticing it. In any case, Yamaguchi’s hands are more battered up than usual, cut up, and covered with makeshift bandages._  
  
_Interesting._  
  
_Tsukishima looks at the box again._  
  
_He takes a seat, then pulls on the twine, untying it and releasing the box held within it. Carefully, he pushes the old, stained paper away from the contents._

_Tsukishima’s eyes widen when he realizes what is in his hands. He looks up at Yamaguchi, then back down to his hands, mouth slightly agape._

_Headphones… and a walkman._

_“They’re a bit beat up…” Yamaguchi starts, noting the scratches and small dents on the headphones and walkman. “But I cleaned it as best I could.” Yamaguchi smiles fondly at his find, playing with his own fingers with joyful pent-up energy. “I know you like music, since… since you’re always humming at home. Your mom had a lot of tapes for keepsakes, didn’t she?”_

_She did, although he had almost forgotten about it. His mother had a small chest full of old tapes that she had kept hidden away. Tsukishima doesn’t clearly remember all the details, but they meant something to her. She couldn’t sell them or even ask to see how much they were worth. She just kept them and told Tsukishima that one day, she’d find something to play them—to show him and Yamaguchi how beautiful the sounds were._  
  
_Tsukishima nods distractedly at Yamaguchi, turning the headphones and walkman in his hands, examining them judiciously. (He hadn’t noticed he was humming absently in the house, let alone humming at all. He figured Yamaguchi was much too observant for his own good.)_  
  
_“I think one of the peacekeepers must’ve dropped it a couple years ago,” Yamaguchi adds, “but surprisingly… it still works. They also have some old batteries over at the trading post. If those die out, we can probably trade something for them.”_  
  
_Tsukishima nods silently again, standing to approach the small chest, opening it and taking out one of his mother’s old tapes, noting how odd it felt to be this nostalgic even though the tapes weren’t his—before finally putting the headphones over his ears to test the sound. Slowly, he shuts his eyes._  
  
_So that’s why Yamaguchi’s fingers are covered in scratches and bandages. He’d been searching everywhere, probably digging through old paths, garbage and thorny bushes looking for anything a peacekeeper may have discarded. Anything to resemble a suitable, makeshift present for Tsukishima’s birthday. How like him._  
  
_“Happy Birthday”, Yamaguchi declares again, straightening up his spine proudly. This time Yamaguchi takes a seat next to him, before leaning forward to grin brightly._  
  
_“Nn.” Tsukishima says, because he was never able to properly voice genuine, non-confrontational feelings through words. His eyes remain shut. “…Thanks.”  
_

* * *

  
He can hear the mixture of hail and rain slamming against the window and he swears the bed is shaking at the gale force winds violently whistling outside of his house. The branches of the trees are scraping against edges of his home, while the endless pattering of rain slams mercilessly against the windows and rooftops. The doors are shaking in response to the strong winds, making shuddering movements, causing the door to their bedroom to open and close, knocking it against its frame.

He finds himself lying awake in bed, thinking about prior events during the day.

* * *

  
Earlier that day, Yamaguchi and he had gotten up extra early to scavenge for materials in the forest to patch up and reinforce their roof. They dealt with the issues of the torn roof, hastily and efficiently working as quickly and as effectively as they could. It was a good thing that their environment provided them with some wood at their disposal, though not many people from the districts attempted to go near the forests— for fear of the unknown and rumors of an electric fence that killed upon even the slightest of touches. The only individuals that Tsukishima knew of, other than he and Yamaguchi of course—that were brave enough to venture into the forest were Daichi, Sugawara, Asahi, Nishinoya, Hinata and Kageyama. Even then, he had no idea how far the others ventured in. Yamaguchi and he only went as far as they felt necessary, which really wasn’t that far at all. He had never seen any kind of chain-link fence, so he figured it must have either been a story made up by the peacekeepers to keep villagers out of the forests and the possible supplies of food and herbs they could find therein, or maybe—that chain-link fence was so far out into the forest that he had never seen it.

It was better that way, that the other villagers didn’t go in. That meant more supplies, more things to scavenge and higher chances of returning home with something instead of nothing in their hands. It worked to their advantage, so he never bothered to share his experiences with any others. Thankfully, Daichi, Sugawara, Kageyama, Hinata, Asahi and Nishinoya were intelligent enough to do the same.

At least he thought they were, because to this day, he hasn’t seen anyone else go into the forest: day or night.

After the reaping, the roof had been leaking near the kitchen/living area and somehow, both Tsukishima and Yamaguchi suspected that the weather would take a turn for the worst. They were right, of course. They had a knack for this sort of thing. Or maybe it was just experience, since they’d been relying on only themselves for years now. They knew that everything that _could_ go wrong tended to happen at the same time, or at the very least, during the same time frame.  
  
They had passed Sugawara on the way back, who, since Daichi had left, seemed to be more exhausted than usual. His face was a few shades paler and his eyes appeared tired and dull. They were no longer radiant or eager and his smiles were weak, somewhat disjointed and out of place. Tsukishima assumed it might have something to do with Sugawara’s inevitable penchant for worrying (understandably so) —most likely about Daichi and Hinata, their current plight, and having been chosen (then volunteered) for. Despite Sugawara’s obvious state, he still visibly forced a smile upon noticing them. It almost annoyed Tsukishima, because if he was having a bad day, he most certainly _wouldn’t_ be smiling at anyone. He didn’t care who it was approached him. If _he_ was having a terrible day, people would know about it. He wouldn’t hide behind a smile, because it felt pointless to.

“Do you need any help?” Sugawara asks lightly, just like he always does when he sees Tsukishima and Yamaguchi. Sugawara knows they’re all each other has and has continually offered to be a helping hand if they needed it. Tsukishima himself doesn’t like asking for help—and he usually just glances over at Sugawara before shrugging and walking away, sometimes making a snide comment or two with a smirk.  
  
Yamaguchi is usually the one to hastily smile at Sugawara, kind enough to say, “ _we’re fine!_ ”, and Sugawara, ever the understanding one, would never take Tsukishima’s abrupt exits with offense. Tsukishima doesn’t care what they think, anyway. He doesn’t _need_ any extra help.  
  
They passed Kageyama on the way back home too, who was working even harder than he ever did before. That was probably _his_ way of coping, shutting himself out in a constant barrage of work. He looked near to the point of exhaustion, with sweat dripping from his face, cheeks flushed to a rosy pink, arms shaking under pressure. His teeth were gritting at the weight in his hands, his knees looking as if they were about to buckle under the weight—until he suddenly regained balance. Sighing, Kageyama lifts an arm to wipe the accumulation of sweat off his forehead, licking his lips in a display of incredible fatigue. Tsukishima barely spares Kageyama a glance before going into his house, grabbing the tools he and Yamaguchi needed to begin mending the roof. He already did all he could to express his sentiments on Daichi and Hinata’s circumstances, even if all he really did was say he was sorry. He vividly remembered how tense Kageyama's shoulder was on the day of the reaping. Tsukishima inwardly frowned.  
  
_Comfort and support._ They definitely weren’t his strong suits.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“Can’t sleep…?” He is immediately jostled out of his train of thought at the sound of Yamaguchi’s smaller voice. He can feel Yamaguchi beginning to shift beside him, turning to face Tsukishima (who is still lying on his back and staring up at the ceiling).  
  
“That rain has been going on for hours now.” Tsukishima responds irately, exhaling. He shifts on the bed, leaning his hands behind his head to prop his head on top of them, lips pursed in thought.  
  
“Mm,” Yamaguchi agrees sleepily. He wiggles in bed, turning fully to Tsukishima, eying him curiously. Without his glasses, Tsukishima can only see shadows and blurs, but he knows what kind of expression is affixed on the other’s face. He shuts his eyes, waiting for Yamaguchi to speak again (and of course, he does). “It’s a good thing we decided to fix the roof today… or else we’d probably be in some trouble right now.”  
  
Tsukishima feels himself nod automatically at Yamaguchi’s words. After a particularly chilly wind snuck itself through a small gap in their window, Yamaguchi moves to pull the blankets over his own shoulders more, inadvertently covering Tsukishima as well.  
  
Tsukishima narrows his eyes because for _some_ reason his mind is again fleeting over to thoughts of Kageyama and Sugawara.

It’s _annoying._  
  
“Sorry”, he hears from his right. Again, Tsukishima is immediately thrusted from his thoughts.  
  
“What?”  
  
“I thought you looked like that because I covered you with the blanket too. Are you too warm?”  
  
It’s pitch black in the room and Yamaguchi can _still_ sense his every move. He wasn’t sure if he found that bothersome or endearing.  
  
Tsukishima grunts in response. “I don’t care.”  
  
Since Tsukishima’s mother had passed on, Yamaguchi and he had been doing their best to keep a roof over their head and food in their stomachs. Since they were only nine at the time of her death, they weren’t exactly savvy with how to spend and use money, so they ended up selling most of the furniture in the house to garner whatever bits of food they could. It was unbelievably difficult at first—and he could remember feeling the horrible sting in his stomach and how Yamaguchi had curled up on the ground right next to Tsukishima, clutching at his own body, willing his hunger to go away. Those were the days that Tsukishima offered his food to Yamaguchi, under the guise that _‘he wasn’t hungry anyway’._ After a while, they couldn’t handle it anymore. They sold the chairs, the table, some lamps, storage chests, as well as the extra bed. The house was nearly empty, but it was okay, because it didn’t really _feel_ empty. They had each other, and for the most part, that’s _all_ they really needed.

Now at this age and because of their experiences, they were much more knowledgeable when it came to basic survival. They had scraped together enough to get another bed if they wanted, but neither seemed to bring it up. They were content with what they had and decided that they might as well save what they could for the “rainy days”.  
  
Tsukishima’s mind once unwittingly fleets back to Sugawara, Kageyama, Daichi and Hinata.  
  
…If they lived long enough to even _have_ rainy days, he mused.  
  
He isn’t sure anymore how many times his and Yamaguchi’s names were put in that reaping bowl. In times of extreme difficulty, they had both asked the government for extra food at the expense of putting their names into the reaping bowl. Tsukishima remembers seeing a small paper being written as they asked for food, both his and Yamaguchi’s names thrown into a reaping bowl more times than was required for their age. Even though he could not remember the exact number of times, he was sure it was only a few times, though that still increased their chances of being reaped exponentially. What he _is_ certain about is that the odds probably _weren’t_ in their favor.  
  
“Tch,” Tsukishima feels himself say, scowling at the thought. Why _was_ he getting all sentimental, anyway? He never really did put much stock into the reaping. If he was picked, then fine, he’d fight and then maybe, _probably_ die. If Yamaguchi was picked, then it’d be the same, right? Life would go on.  
  
But then those thoughts didn’t feel right and Tsukishima shifts uncomfortably, because he can feel something inside him twitch and churn in disagreement.  
  
“…You wanna talk about it?”  
  
This time he turns his head to fully look over at Yamaguchi. Tsukishima isn’t really the type of talk about his feelings.  
  
The room suddenly lights up for a second as a clash of thunder interrupts their train of thought. The house seems to clatter in response, and Yamaguchi flinches. Yamaguchi isn’t scared of the thunder, just has many memories of being a small boy, hiding in abandoned corners, homeless while a clash of thunder roared ahead. Those were the days when Yamaguchi didn’t live with Tsukishima and his mother full-time, due to feelings of doubt and shame. Tsukishima would often go out of his way to find him on those days, and when he did, Yamaguchi would be cowering with his hands over his head. Tsukishima removed his coat and threw it on top of Yamaguchi on those nights, not to shield the rain, since his coat wasn’t suited for water resistance, but to shield him from the thunder, or at least, from the lightning that clashed in the distance.  
  
“Thank you”, Yamaguchi responds, and Tsukishima looks over at him, confused. Not long after, Tsukishima realizes that he’d absently shuffled over, closer to Yamaguchi, after the clash of thunder. They were nowhere near touching, but Tsukishima's warmth seemed to comfort Yamaguchi anyway.  
  
Tsukishima grumbles incoherently for a second, his way of responding to Yamaguchi’s ‘thank you’.  
  
“…Are you thinking about Kageyama and Sugawara?” Yamaguchi starts.

Of _course_ he’d notice.  
Maybe all those freckles of his were secretly eyes too.

“They’ll be okay, I think.” Yamaguchi shuts his eyes, his voice barely above that of a whisper, “they have their families too. It’ll help them through it.”  
  
Families. That’s right.  
Tsukishima had been without one for so long that he forgot to even factor that into the situation.  
  
“We’re lucky.” Yamaguchi adds.  
  
Lucky? Tsukishima wanted to scoff. He would hardly call themselves lucky.  
  
Tsukishima narrows his eyes again in thought, and then looks over at him, asserting himself to tell Yamaguchi in a not-so-direct way what he was thinking. “What if one of us was reaped?”  
  
Yamaguchi is silent for a few minutes, but does let a pensive “huh” out. “I… guess that would be bad then, hm?” He finally says.  
  
It would be, Tsukishima decides, because _they_ don’t have families. There isn’t anyone else that they’d opened up to. They _literally_ only have each other.  
  
Tsukishima squints, turning on his side to blindly face the other. He is frowning now, looking at Yamaguchi who (because Tsukishima doesn’t have his glasses on), looks like a blob of dull colors.  
  
Swiftly, he reaches his arms out, pulling Yamaguchi into a firm, tight hug.  
  
In all their years together, Tsukishima has never shown any sign of physical affection towards the other. They’d remained the same. Despite this, Tsukishima doesn’t feel Yamaguchi react adversely at all. Tsukishima is actually the one who is awkward at first, not knowing what to do with his long limbs as he pulls the other into an odd, albeit comfortable embrace. The uncertainty quickly dissipates however, and he relaxes.  
  
He isn’t good with words. He doesn’t know how to say he’s grateful. So he does this instead. Gently, he tightens the hug, engulfing Yamaguchi in complete warmth.

“We’re lucky,” Tsukishima agrees finally, with his eyes closed.  
  
Yamaguchi chuckles, leaning his head into Tsukishima’s chest in understanding and in favor of more warmth. “We’re lucky!” He mirrors happily.  
  
_Heh._ Tsukishima smirks. Yamaguchi could be so ridiculously effervescent sometimes.  
  
They were lucky, _this time._  
They still had a few more years before they became too old and ineligible for the reaping.  
  
“…Goodnight.” Tsukishima says, because he wants to try sleeping again.  
  
Yamaguchi breathes lightly, yawning in agreement. “Mm. …Goodnight, Tsukki.”

* * *

  
Tsukishima wakes up the next morning because an annoying strand of defiant hair is tickling his nose. He crinkles his face, not wanting to open his eyes. The sun isn’t out yet and he is determined to sleep in as much as he can, with as little interference as possible. He groans, lifting his head in a sort of awkward irritated notion, finally deciding on leaning his chin on top Yamaguchi’s head, his chin serving as a weight for that unruly strand of hair.  
  
Yamaguchi, much to his chagrin, is beginning to shuffle at his movements. It makes Tsukishima bite the inside of his cheek impatiently. He’s willing the other to _stop moving and let him sleep._  
  
“Mm,” Yamaguchi hums in hazy apology, stilling himself in understanding. Yamaguchi sighs before falling back into slumber, and they stay like that until the sun is beaming so offensively through the windows that they can no longer ignore it.  
  
When they finally roll out of bed, they go about their usual schedule. Tsukishima meanders to the bathroom lazily, while Yamaguchi makes the bed. They alternate on who makes the bed and today isn’t Tsukishima’s day. He can hear Yamaguchi humming as he pulls the thin sheets over their worn mattress, a song he recognized as from one of his tapes, because he often lent Yamaguchi his headphones when he left the house to get something done. He doesn’t want to admit that the sight of Yamaguchi sitting on their couch, legs outstretched as if they _don’t live in hell,_ humming to a familiar tune comforts him.

They are sitting around their table now, made from a slab of wood nailed into a tree stump since they had sold their _real_ table, having bits of soup that consisted mostly of water and a few leaves of cabbage. There was no taste. That wasn’t the point, anyway.

Tsukishima has his headphones resting on his shoulder, but the music is on, droning softly to echo into both their ears as they ate in a comfortable silence. It had rained the day before, but this morning was oddly bright, and they both think they hear birds chirping in the distance. An oddly beautiful day—despite the commencement of the Hunger Games.

Yamaguchi blinks for a moment before looking up at Tsukishima, spoon still head up to his mouth, as if mirroring his thoughts. “Isn’t the tribute parade today..?”

 _Huh_. Tsukishima thought silently, chewing one leaf longer in attempt to savor it. _It was._

“Maybe we should go check it out,” Yamaguchi starts, sipping the soup from an old wooden spoon, “you know, to support Kageyama and Sugawara.” Tsukishima raises a defiant brow for a moment, but realizes Yamaguchi is probably linking this back to Tsukishima’s own awkward display of condolences, as well as the events that played out last night. It comforts him that Yamaguchi does not mention it, instead acting as if this display of concern was only Yamaguchi’s sentiment—and absolutely was _not_ Tsukishima’s. Tsukishima didn’t really like being called out on worrying needlessly about others.  
  
“I want to support them as much as we can, if you don’t mind.” Yamaguchi is swirling his spoon in his soup now, always eating slowly to savor every last bit. He didn’t even have to think about it. “They helped us a lot last winter.”

Kageyama, Sugawara, Daichi and Hinata _did_ helplast winter, so Tsukishima nods in agreement. Fine, they would watch the tribute parade, if only to see how Daichi and Hinata were doing.

* * *

  
On their way to watch an update of the Games, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi cross paths with Nishinoya, a small, ball of energy that lived with Asahi, one of the village healers. From what Tsukishima knew, Nishinoya and Asahi were incredibly close with Daichi and Sugawara, but weren’t out or around as much because Asahi had somehow gotten himself so sick that he was bedridden. Nishinoya (rumor had it) had confined him to that room, not allowing him to get out, insistent on his rest, knowingly shouldering Asahi’s work day in addition to his own. Nishinoya seemed more energetic from day to day, despite the extra load of work on his shoulders and Tsukishima and Yamaguchi often ran into him, bolting back and forth from the town, and even crossing paths with them outside of the forest.

The rumors going around town involving Nishinoya and Asahi were ridiculous. Tsukishima himself (and Yamaguchi for that matter), weren’t close to the two, so they personally had no idea if the rumors were true.

People said it was odd, how Asahi and Nishinoya, who weren’t on the ‘richer’ side of the village, could suddenly afford their own house, with payments and expenses all paid off. It was said that they somehow moved out of their smaller, decrepit household, into a more comfortable one— the one they live in now, situated towards the outskirts of town. It wasn’t in the ‘richer’ side of the village, but still, it was much better than what several individuals had in a lifetime. People in the village had surmised that Asahi must have been selling something illegal on the side, something along the line of medications and drugs— because he looked ‘sketchy’. Being a healer, he probably would have some kind of supply for peacekeepers or whoever else was ‘buying’ from him.

The villagers talked endlessly about their relationship too— with incredible disdain and disapproval. Asahi and Nishinoya were open about their relationship, or at least the smaller one of the two was. Tsukishima often noted that Nishinoya would jump up, or tug Asahi down into a kiss before leaving to work or scavenge—or do whatever he needed to do during the day. It used to be that both Asahi and Nishinoya left to work together, but that suddenly stopped. Asahi had begun to stay home. Villagers of course viewed this as even more evidence that Asahi was gathering income elsewhere, with these ‘shadowy’ circumstances.

The fact that they were both men didn’t seem to bother the villagers as much as the way they _looked_ , something about how Asahi was a pedophile and a creep for ‘manipulating’ a child like that, looking to be at _least_ ten years Nishinoya’s senior. It didn’t help that he towered above the other male, with hair tied up into a messy bun and facial hair that sometimes remained unkempt, in such a way that the village elders regarded to it as 'suspicious in nature'.

Tsukishima personally never saw Asahi do anything negative and distrustful.   
To Tsukishima, it seemed like Nishinoya was constantly the instigator to any kind of intimacy—at least in public. If anything, Asahi seemed to be nothing more than a gentle giant, even shy and awkward at times. 

Whatever their situation entailed, Tsukishima didn’t care. It was their business. If it made them happy, then it was their right to spend their lives the way they wanted to. The rest of the village didn’t matter. It didn’t matter what they thought. Asahi and Nishinoya didn’t seem to care, and neither did Tsukishima. If they suddenly disapproved of Tsukishima living with Yamaguchi, it didn’t matter.  
  
It just _didn’t_ matter.

Absolutely _none_ of it.

So as Yamaguchi and Tsukishima pass Nishinoya, who is carrying something inside a bag that is twice his size, as people murmur about loudly, wondering where Asahi is and muttering about how insensitive it is for him to leave Nishinoya out there on his own even if he _is sick in bed_ , Tsukishima nods at Nishinoya in a kind of reassuring gesture.

Nishinoya and Asahi don’t care about what a few villagers thought about them, and Tsukishima admired that—more than he could possibly say.

* * *

  
There is a small crowd in a crude tavern-like home that day, one of the only places with television in the poorer part of the district. Tsukishima pushes himself through the crowd, making his way to the front (at the exasperation and expense of others), to where Sugawara and Kageyama are.  
  
Sugawara seems to notice the rustling (or maybe the resounding complaints of the others (it wasn’t Tsukishima’s fault if they were so short he could shove through them), turns, then nods slightly at Yamaguchi and him, smiling as best he can in light of the circumstances. “The gates haven’t opened yet.”  
  
Yamaguchi leans near Tsukishima’s side, having had more difficulty getting through the crowd than Tsukishima did, being smaller and having less of an ‘ominous’ presence than him. “Does it start soon?”  
  
As if on cue, there is a collective murmur in the room when the television seems to flicker to life. There are two announcers (to Tsukishima, both looking and sounding like pompous idiots) as they describe district after district.

The main announcer has short, bright blonde hair, so straight-cut that it looked as if it could cut her cheeks every time she swayed in excitement. Her eyes and brows were fierce and frightening, lined heavily with black and brown pencil. She was extremely angular, what the capitol might call: “modern”. Her personality is veritably strong, the way her mouth curls up into a wide grin, eyes glistening with eagerness in response to the situation unfolding around her. She is wearing Capitol garbage, but she seems to have retained her strong persona even with the ridiculous garb. She introduces herself as Saeko, and that she will be headlining this year's games.  
  
They’re talking about useless things, about how each of the tributes look, how they so _perfectly_ represent their respective districts and other things that clearly just didn’t matter.

The citizens were animals that didn’t care for the welfare of human-beings. The citizens only wanted to see them locked up in an arena, forcing them slaughter to each other in a fantastic, barbaric display on high-definition television for all the world to see.  
  
Tsukishima takes a moment to look over at Sugawara and Kageyama.  
  
Sugawara gasps, almost inaudibly, and now seems to be holding his breath. He is unmoving and his eyes are fixed on the screen, his hand clasping gently at his blue scarf. His eyes are glazed and he is lightly biting his lip in apprehension.  
  
Kageyama seems to be somewhat shaking, hands fisted to his sides in a fit of nervousness (or anger, Tsukishima couldn’t be sure) –fisted so tightly that Tsukishima thinks they’ll bruise. Kageyama’s scowl is even deeper than it usually is and his eyes are searching the screen for answers. He is trying to catch a glimpse _behind_ the announcers, behind the opening districts to catch a glimpse of something (or _someone,_ Tsukishima assumed) else.  
  
“Wait—what the _hell_ is that?!” The announcer begins excitedly, suddenly straightening up in the chair before bolting up in sheer excitement. She is grinning as she stands up, nearly toppling the table over, surprising the one accompanying her. Tsukishima narrows his eyes. She almost seems more of a thug than the “couture” ladies supposedly bred and pampered by the Capitol.  
  
There is a fire in the distance, then the cameras finally zoom in. Was there an accident?  
  
It takes a moment for Tsukishima to realize it's Daichi and Hinata, swept up in an amazing blaze of fire, in a glow of diverse colors in a black chariot, textured with different leathers and sheeny material. The fire looks so real that Tsukishima can feel Yamaguchi flinch beside him, gingerly taking hold of his shoulder. Tsukishima leans in closer.  
  
Sugawara and Kageyama say nothing and do nothing. It’s apparent there is nothing else in the world of more importance to them other than this moment.

* * *

  
Tsukishima raises a speculative brow. If one looked closely, Daichi at first seemed curious, looking around him, while the other— _heh_ , Hinata looks like he’s about to be sick (though most of the people watching probably couldn’t tell because Tsukishima was probably just staring harder than average). Whether he liked it or not, he almost automatically observed the actions of others scrutinizing situations more so than he ever needed.  
  
The people in the town begin to mutter and talk amongst themselves before the television (and said people around him began to react strongly again).  
  
“Now _that’s_ the kind of thing I want to see!” The thug-announcer (as Tsukishima had so fondly named her)responds again, shoving her fist into the screen. “Saying, I’m proud of being here, I’m proud of my district, and _damn it,_ get a load of this!! These bastards know what it’s all about!”

Tsukishima’s eyes are lifted to the screen and Daichi and Hinata have clasped their hands together, raising it in a show of what appeared to be pride and confidence. All traces of trepidation and doubt were gone.

Daichi’s lips are stretched to a thin line; his eyes are narrowed in a way where he seems _almost_ arrogant. He is standing so straight, so confident—that Tsukishima is almost sure that had the Hunger Games begun at this moment, Daichi would have been able to take down any tribute in his way.

Tsukishima's eyes dart to Sugawara and he notices that Sugawara’s eyes are beginning to glaze, biting his bottom lip so strongly that the edges where his teeth and lip meet are turning white. He is obviously fighting back any of the evidence of emotion pooling in his eyes, silver brows evidently forcing themselves to stay low and focused.  
  
Hinata looks similar to Daichi—his size making absolutely no difference in the demonstration they were creating. His brows are furrowed so closely that he looks intimidating; his eyes are wide, almost in a frighteningly sick, deranged way, almost looking like he is enjoying this. His orange hair seems to only increase this effect, as the fires around him seem to burn only brighter.  
  
The flames are literally reflecting in both their eyes, mirroring their momentary fervor.  
  
Tsukishima hears a slight grunt near Sugawara, and this time, Kageyama has his head down, far enough so that his bangs are somewhat covering his face. His eyes are still fixed onto the screen, and he is visibly shaking now, nodding, with his lips moving lightly but noiselessly, as if telepathically congratulating and willing the smaller tribute to _be strong and stay strong.  
  
_ After the final announcements are made, the tribute parade is over. Most of the people where they are currently gathered have dispersed, and soon, only the four of them left standing.  
  
It is Sugawara who speaks first, letting out a shaky breath.  
  
“T-They’re okay,” he starts, blinking back, smiling in spite of himself. His legs are beginning to shake and not long after, he is kneeling on the floor. “T-They’re… okay.”  
  
_They’re okay_ , Tsukishima thinks. _For now._  
  
Yamaguchi has his hand on Tsukishima’s arm, and tightening his grip slightly, as if responding to his thoughts.  
  
Kageyama has his head turned away, in that infuriating, attempting to conceal his emotion type of way. Tsukishima for once isn’t bothered by the darker haired one's actions, because oddly, he can relate, much more than he would care to admit.  
  
“Come on, Tsukki,” Yamaguchi says softly, “Let’s take them back home and get them something to drink.” He is kneeling now, tugging Sugawara gently off the ground.  
  
Tsukishima lifts his head to gaze at Kageyama, then crosses his arms, beckoning him to follow. “Come on.” Tsukishima finally mumbles under his breath, glaring unintentionally. “We have food to spare.”  
  
_We don’t_ , he thinks. But for now, it’s really all they can do.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note [M]: Sorry that this took a while to post, classes started for me in January! This chapter is rather short and full of Tsukkiyama, next chapter we're back in the Capitol with Daichi and Hinata! Thanks again for your patience.
> 
> Author’s Note [K]: To those who read the last chapter early (before I could change my author’s note), I’m sorry for the lack of Nekoma-babies in this chapter. I was so excited to get the last chapter done and over with that I completely forgot I wrote this one. =v=;;
> 
> Throughout the story you can expect some “recap” chapters like this, because we think it’s really important to go back to the district and show how Kageyama/Sugawara react to Daichi and Hinata’s situations (though in this one it’s more how Kageyama and Sugawara react through Tsukishima’s eyes.) We thought it would also be nice to touch on AsaNoya a bit more in this chapter. Saeko is also introduced; she’ll be narrating the games for the districts on full high-definition. (They’ll love that). As we’ve said, Tanaka isn’t showing up in this story (again, a reason for that), but I just want to put out there that he and Saeko aren’t related in this universe. 
> 
> A note on Tsukishima, yes, he does seem jaded and ‘harsh’. That’s done on purpose, and his character will fill out more later. He lost his brother before he was even born, father by the time he was six, mother when he turned nine. He and Yamaguchi had to learn to live on their own before they even reached double-digits in terms of age, sold off most of their belongings in the house for money to survive and even succumbed to putting their names into the reaping bowl extra times just for some more sustenance. Given the situation, with the things he’s been through and his canon personality, we think his less than rosy outlook in this world is justified. Besides, if you really look closely, he has his sweet moments. X3 
> 
> Lastly, LOL, he has a Walkman, because I can’t see a peacekeeper just flinging an iPod away. We’re trying to keep little things like that in the story, so… yes. It’s fun, finding ways to incorporate them. <3  
> Please do comment, we work pretty hard on these chapters, so I cannot even express how much we’d love to hear any kind of response. 
> 
> Thank you in advance for reading, and thank you very much to those who have commented/fav’d/etc.—you’re why we keep writing!
> 
> The next chapter DEFINITELY will have Nekoma in it and even some KageHina! <3


	6. Hinata Shouyou

6\. **Hinata, Shouyou**

 _He is standing in the middle of the forest, with his hands affixed behind his head and fingers resting on his neck. He’s done as much scavenging as he possibly could this year, but his family is still having an immeasurably difficult time getting through each passing day. People in the district seemed to be eating more, turning to rations of food that were supposed to be saved for the harsh, upcoming winter_ _because they were getting sick from the early onset of the cold. All food reserves were quickly dissipating and in response, Hinata had given all of his extra food to Natsu. He’d been rummaging through the forest for anything edible for hours, even if he had little to no knowledge of what could and couldn’t be eaten._

 _The point?  
  
Hinata is hungry.  
  
Squatting down to the ground, he glares, picking up a stray piece of wood, absently drawing in the ground, just as a certain dark haired individual had done in front of him several years before. Hinata found that there was something strangely comforting about the drawing, mind occupied with movements straining to create what his starving mind envisioned. Half-way into his sketch, he realized that drawing turned out to be something good, because it helped to keep his mind (and stomach) off his growing appetite—even if the picture being scrawled onto the ground _ was _of food.  
  
Feeling nostalgic at the action of drawing, he lifts his head in contemplation.  
  
Was Kageyama starving too?  
  
Hinata lets out a loud, high pitched, guttural sound before staring up at the clouds angrily. His stomach is grumbling and he doesn’t know what he can do to feed himself or his family. His parents have stern rules about asking the government for extra food. It’s not worth it, they’d say, not worth it to put their names into the reaping bowl just for a few extra scraps.  
  
But what if he was starving and at the brink of death?  
Would it still not be worth it?  
  
“What are you doing?”  
  
Hinata turns his head to see Kageyama standing there, hands nestled deep into his pockets, frowning down at him. Hinata wonders absently if it gets tiring frowning like that all the time, but he shrugs at the thought. Sighing, Hinata turns his head back so he is no longer facing the taller male, remaining in his squatting position. Normally, he’d pout defiantly out of instinct. But today, he is too tired to even attempt it. He decides to simply tell Kageyama the truth. _

_“I’m hungry.” Hinata voices, sluggishly curling up into a tighter crouch.  
  
It isn’t long after when Hinata starts to hear footsteps trail behind him, the crunching of the leaves echoing beneath their feet. Kageyama squats beside him, looking forward blankly. There is a comfortable silence existing between them until Kageyama breaks it.  
  
“…I am too.” He says quietly, in lighter, but still rigid tone. His awkward shuffling made the edges of Hinata’s lips quirk up ever so slightly.  
  
Surprised by this sudden softening of attitude, Hinata looks up at him and grins fully, twirling the branch in his hand. He points to the ground, finishing up his outline of a meat bun, then elbows the other excitedly to join in, as if he had found the perfect solution to their hunger.  
  
Kageyama rolls his eyes, scowling lightly at him, but acquiesces and takes the stick anyway. He stares hard down at the meat bun (almost strategically, Hinata notices), adds folds, and then steam rising from the top of it.  
  
Hinata feels himself beginning to drool. He claps his hands eagerly, tilting his head to the side so it can rest lamely on his own shoulder. “That looks _ so _good!”  
  
He could even smell the meat bun—because yes, he was _ that _hungry. He’s only ever seen a meat bun once in his life, a peacekeeper bringing it in, but it had looked so sumptuous and fluffy and it smelled so incredibly satisfying and—  
  
“Dumbass, it barely even _ looks _like a meat bun.”  
  
“It does too!” Hinata pouts, “How could you know it was a meat bun if it didn’t look like one? It’s not like I told you what I was drawing!”  
  
He thinks he saw the corners of Kageyama’s mouth lift up, but immediately attributes it to his growing hunger. He must be seeing things, because Kageyama hasn’t smiled in _ years _.  
  
Hinata stares back at their meat bun collaboration and as if on cue, his stomach grumbles in protest. Gritting his teeth embarrassedly, Hinata tenses his stomach, tightening it to silence the unwelcome sounds while moaning conjunctly in complaint.  
  
He isn’t embarrassed his stomach is making stupid noises with Kageyama sitting so incredibly close to him. Hinata scuffs his feet minutely, glowering at the meat bun taunting him in the ground.  
  
Okay. Well maybe it bothered him a little.  
_

_“…The peacekeepers are in town again.” Kageyama replies, as if already in mid conversation. Hinata is surprised again, because Kageyama usually isn’t one for small talk. Not anymore.  
  
“Eh? Why?” Hinata’s voice comes out somewhat strained, but he doesn’t care. If curling his body inward and tightening his muscles stops his stomach from yelling out in protest, he’d gladly take the consequences.  
  
The male beside him shrugs, now drawing a plate for their imagined meat bun to sit on. “They’ve been walking around town with food in their hands, eating it like they’re mocking us. They probably _ are _mocking us.”  
  
Hinata gently takes the stick from Kageyama, haphazardly adding in a fork.  
  
“…That fork is way too big against the plate and the meat bun, dumbass.”  
  
Indignant, Hinata stiffens. “Well maybe it’s a really _ small _meat bun, because the Capitol didn’t want to waste food on us!” He sticks his tongue out petulantly, making a vibrating sound with his mouth and tongue. Honestly, Kageyama was never any fun.  
  
Kageyama reaches his hand over to Hinata’s in attempt to grab the stick in his hand. In the moment that Kageyama takes the stick back, their hands touch. Hinata bristles lightly, but does not make any complaint. Instead he feels himself pause, looking away before clucking his tongue in feigned indifference.  
  
Luckily, the act goes by unnoticed because Kageyama is tightening his grip on the stick, now gritting his teeth in a show of anger and disgust. “…I hate the Capitol. So much.”  
  
Hinata nods in agreement. The peacekeepers always had extra food, food that they would showcase to the poor villagers before putting it up to their own lips, smiling ruthlessly before eating it.  
  
It was one of the worst types of torture, Hinata concluded, remembering that time he was curled up on the streets, hugging his stomach in hunger. He recalls staring intently at a peacekeeper eating what looked to be a piece of bread. He was about five at the time and the peacekeeper had made eye contact with him, making a motion to look like he’d throw the aforementioned bread to Hinata in an uncharacteristic display of pity. Instead, the peacekeeper’s face contorted into what could only be described as a condescending grin.  
  
Hinata knew what was going to happen next. He didn’t need to have his eyes open to know that the peacekeeper would throw the rest of the bread over a precipice, locked between two rocks so not even the dogs could reach it. Hinata could hear the peacekeeper’s footsteps on the ground, the pebbles moving and sounding like sandpaper under his heavy, plastic like boots as he shifted his weight to be rid himself of the half-eaten loaf of bread. It was similar, too similar, to that time when another peacekeeper had discarded their volleyball, flinging it over an area with a similar cliff, like it was nothing but garbage._

 _It probably_ was _nothing but garbage to that peacekeeper. Still, Hinata had decided then and there that he hated cliffs.  
  
_  
  
When the peacekeepers were summoned to town and had to stay for a few days (for whatever reason, because they never really seemed to be _ doing _anything useful), they had their own quarters, their own small, restricted area to stay in. There was a fence that blocked it off and they had a garbage bin outside of it, full of discarded scraps and food they didn’t want anymore. Any villagers that were caught in that area were badly punished, and most never seen again. No one dared to trespass.  
  
But Hinata lifted his head, pursing his lips. “…There is that small garbage bin they have outside that restricted area. They throw so much food in there; I think I saw an entire loaf of bread!”  
  
Kageyama gazes at him—and when seconds turn into a full minute, Hinata guessed what he was going to say next. Something along the lines of, ‘dumbass, don’t you know they’d kill you before you got the chance’, or 'what idiot would throw away a entire loaf of bread'— but upon realizing that the other _ still _wasn’t saying anything, Hinata turned his head in question, focusing his eyes on the taller male squatting beside him._

 _“Kageyama?”  
  
“…We could, you know.”  
  
“What do you mean, “we could”?”  
  
Kageyama appears hesitant for a flicker of a moment, but then his eyes grow hard and certain. “You could be my decoy.”  
  
His decoy?  
What was he going on about?  
  
“Later tonight.” Kageyama said, turning to him and leaning close. He can see Kageyama’s dark blue eyes spark with assuredness while his lips formed a deeper, but less stern frown. He hasn't seen this kind of determination from Kageyama in a long, long time. It makes Hinata feel motivated for some reason, and Hinata can even feel his cheeks begin to flush—but he’s sure it’s just because he’s hungry. Yes, that had to be it.  
  
“L…Later tonight?” Hinata asks, feeling his palms begin to get sweaty. What is he getting nervous about?  
  
Kageyama leans in, his lips closing in as much as they could without actually touching Hinata. Hinata can feel his own lips quiver and part at the feel of Kageyama’s breaths— and before he knows it, Kageyama is whispering in Hinata’s ear. It makes Hinata shiver, new to the feeling of something tingling by his ear. Hinata clenches his fists in uncertainty and nervousness.  
  
“We could sneak out. I’ll find a way to get inside, take food out of the bin, and you can be my decoy. When the guards come… you…” He hesitates, before turning to softly but firmly clasp Hinata’s face with both of his hands.  
  
His hands are calloused and cold, but there’s something about them, something about Kageyama’s firm, intense grasp that makes Hinata soften and relax.  
  
“You need to _ be _there to distract them. Or else…”  
  
Hinata knows what Kageyama is alluding to.  
He’s saying he needs to be there to distract them_ — _or else he’ll die_. _Peacekeepers will see him, and they’ll beat him and torture him, until he’s so bruised and bloodied up that he wouldn’t be able to move, wouldn’t be able to speak, or even be recognized. He would be tormented to the point where the peacekeepers can no longer have their fun, until he is so broken mentally that he’ll be wishing he’s dead._ That’s _when they’ll decide it’s time for him to disappear, because_ that’s _when the fun would end._  
  
_But Hinata isn’t willing to let that happen, not when Kageyama’s entrusting him with this plan—entrusting_ him _with his own life after years of cold dissonance between them.  
  
“Okay!” Hinata pipes up, thrilled and full of zeal. “L-Let’s do it.”  
  
“Tonight.” Kageyama affirms, unmoving, with his fingers still firm against Hinata’s reddening cheeks. He is staring so earnestly and yet so sternly into Hinata’s eyes.  
  
Hinata feels like he’s going to falter, but furrows his brows, trying to remain as serious as the discussion called for.  
  
He decides to just mirror the other’s words, because his mind cannot form coherent thought **s**. “T...Tonight!” Hinata repeats, and Kageyama nods, finally pulling his hands off of Hinata’s face. There’s a sudden rush of chill that hits Hinata’s face, and he figures that it’s probably the cold _ and _hunger now working together to boggle and confuse his mind.  
  
Hinata looks up, because Kageyama is beginning to stand, brushing off his legs.  
  
Once more, he turns to Hinata. “I’ll meet you early to figure out a plan.”  
  
“Right.” Hinata replies, feeling elated but yet slightly crestfallen at the separation.  
  
“…Right.”  
  
With that, Kageyama is stalking off, probably to hunt and gather what he could prior to then.  
  
_  
  
  
Before he knows it, it is nightfall, and he is sneaking out of his room in an astounding display of quiet and stealth to meet Kageyama.  
  
Hinata is wearing black (along with a large black rag tied over his head, “they’ll see your ungodly bright hair, that’s why, dumbass”) and he feels like he’s embarking on some super-secret mission, though in reality that pretty much _ is _what he’s doing. He walks around the corners, making sure to keep an eye out, using his agility to hide from any passing individuals.  
  
“We need to keep this a secret,” Kageyama said earlier, “so no one can tie us to what we’re about to do.”  
  
After a few minutes of walking and no other interruptions from villagers taking walks (everyone must be huddled up together or asleep), Hinata begins to relax, before his breath suddenly catches and he is seized callously into a dark alley, drawn up firmly against a warm, foreign body, with a hand clasped tightly on top of his mouth.  
  
He begins to fidget and kick, with every part of his body alarming in protest and fear—until a familiar, musky, woodsy scent penetrates his nose. He turns his head to look up at his assailant, then whispers vehemently. “Kageyama, you jerk! Don’t sneak up on me like that!”  
  
“Shh,” Kageyama warns, with calloused hands still holding adamantly onto Hinata. “I found a path we could use where we won’t get caught.”  
  
Hinata blushes furiously and stubbornly, before pouting and scuffing his feet like a child. “Y...You could’ve told me that before!”  
  
Kageyama pulls away, rolling his eyes. “Come on.”  
  
_  
  
The ‘secret path’ Kageyama was referring to turned out to be a path he had discovered on his own, most likely earlier that day. It was a rough trail, obviously from having never been used before. Hinata often tripped, bumping into Kageyama on the way to the peacekeeper’s temporary quarters. Hinata mumbles, muttering a soft, ‘sorry’ every time he does, but the taller one never responds.  
  
Much to Hinata’s chagrin, that musky, woodsy scent has yet to escape him.  
  
“Okay,” they finally stop and Kageyama looks back at him, pulling both of them under a canopy of thick foliage. He is whispering. “I’ll climb up that,” he states, motioning towards a small opening in the gate. “I have a bag with me to gather whatever I can find. You stay here and keep watch. If the peacekeepers start to move or come outside… distract them.” He looks at Hinata, then steps back, staring at him from head to toe.  
  
Hinata recoils at Kageyama’s gaze, suddenly uncomfortable, tightlipped and tense. His eyes are rapidly darting around, unsure of where to look, anywhere _ but _Kageyama—because he isn’t used to the sudden, undivided attention. He might as well have_ not _been wearing clothes, because Kageyama is regarding him so intensely he feels almost shy and insecure, like he wants to hide (or at the very least, cover up).  
  
It feels like hours until Kageyama speaks up, crossing his arms and frowning. “…The black should do fine, but if you can, use the things around us to camouflage yourself.”  
  
Hinata finally stares up at him (having been looking everywhere _ but _at Kageyama, because damn, this hunger in his stomach must’ve really started to get to him) but flinches when he sees Kageyama’s hand shoot out, gently lacing his fingers through Hinata’s hair.  
  
Hinata feels himself begin to panic, shuts his eyes in attempt to steel himself, clamping his lips shut. He’s unsure of what Kageyama’s doing, but his heart is beating fast, faster than it ever has and he isn’t sure of what to do. His hands are hanging lamely to his side, curling and uncurling in a fit of nervous energy as the pads of Kageyama’s cold, rough fingers brush against his scalp, almost as if he’s massaging—or caressing him.  
  
His touch is oddly gentle.  
  
From a guy that cold and angry, Hinata expected differently. Not that he’d been expecting anything, of course. A few minutes later, Hinata hears some rustling under their feet and senses that Kageyama is moving closer, as if they’re not already close enough.  
  
Hinata feels something hitch in his throat, and he’s having difficulty swallowing. His eyes flutter open in a sense of urgency. “K-Kage-“  
  
Kageyama pulls away, kneeling down to the ground, fisting some dirt in his hands. “Use this in your hair.” He says in a soft, but commanding whisper. “It’ll dull down the colors where it sticks out from under the rag.”  
  
Ah, so that’s what it was.  
  
Hinata can feel his entire body deflate itself of air. He decided he definitely must’ve been really, _ really _hungry._

 _Starving, even.  
  
“I’m going.” Kageyama narrows his eyes severely, not that it makes much of a difference to Hinata in this darkness. Kageyama pauses, reaching out and tugging on Hinata’s collar, which was (to what Hinata could only assume) Kageyama’s awkward attempt at instilling his every confidence in him. Kageyama never was good at getting his point across. But Hinata could always understand him— he could understand exactly what Kageyama meant, no matter what the situation was.  
  
“Stay sharp. Be alert.”  
  
Hinata nods, watching Kageyama stealthily make his way down to the peacekeepers’ quarters, before deciding to kneel down and camouflage himself as best he could with the resources surrounding him.  
  
_ _  
  
_He thought his heart stopped when he heard the peacekeeper open the door, but he immediately moved on instinct the moment he saw the man step towards Kageyama. He sped towards the other side of the quarters, making noises and sounds to distract the peacekeeper. His breathing was ragged, his heart felt like it was going to pop out of his chest or jump right up his throat, but he wasn’t going to let the peacekeeper find Kageyama.  
  
Not when Kageyama trusted him.  
  
Not ever.  
  
Hinata speeds around several corners, making sure to rattle bushes and break off twigs and branches. The peacekeeper has a rifle, aiming blindly at various locations. Just as Hinata sees Kageyama’s shadow escape, he pauses, taking a moment to figure out his next move.  
  
He looks around, then finds a stretch of mud and leaves on the ground. When the peacekeeper makes a turn towards him, he is already laying within the mud, camouflaged through encapsulation within the sticky, cold pool, muddying his clothing and dirtied hair. The leaves are serving as extra protection, adding different colors and textures to make his disguise more believable.  
  
The peacekeeper is literally steps away from him when it grows deafeningly quiet. He is cocking his gun, aiming into the forest, but not down at the ground where Hinata is laying.  
  
Hinata holds his breath.  
  
Sighing, and after what seems like ages, the peacekeeper lets his gun down, shaking his head. “Must’ve been some animals.” He mutters to himself, then excuses himself back inside his room.  
  
Kageyama quickly runs to meet Hinata, tugging him up so they can make their way towards the lake to clean off the excess mud and dirt from his body. There are a few scratches on Hinata’s face, no doubt from lying amongst sharp twigs and leaves.  
  
_

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
… _  
  
Hinata is munching on a half-eaten piece of bread, reveling in its taste.  
  
He hears a soft splash of water as Kageyama reaches his hands down into the lake to wash off any residual dirt and mud on them. Hinata is covered in it—but Kageyama only seems to be focused on Hinata’s face for now. They can’t be seen with any evidence linking them back to the scene.  
  
Hinata frowns, thinking of their reasons for the secrecy. The townspeople were not exempt from having traitors looking for a reason to have the peacekeepers look favorably upon them— to have an extra piece food or clothing. It was understandable, but disgusting, Hinata thought, and definitely no reason to betray one of your own.  
  
He is strewn out of his thoughts when Kageyama has his fingers on Hinata’s cheek, dousing a small cut with frigid water.  
  
Hinata flinches, pulling back impulsively from the sudden sting of pain, but Kageyama holds him still.  
  
“Sit still,” he responds condescendingly, and before Hinata can retort, ‘but it hurts, you jerk!’, Kageyama surprises him again using soft tones that are so unlike Kageyama and yet at the same time so fitting for him. Calloused fingers worked to whisk away the mud that had affixed itself onto Hinata’s face—in soft, gentle movements, mirroring the softness from his voice just moments before and making it incredibly difficult for the smaller boy to avert his eyes from the taller one. In this isolation, this sheet of darkness and secrecy, Hinata could see that Kageyama’s features, ones often ridden with harsh, troubled expressions— were kinder and much more relieved.  
  
The taller boy’s voice is the only sound echoing around them.  
Kageyama is using this thumb now, to gently apply pressure on Hinata’s cut. “…You did well.”  
  
And by the way the corners of Kageyama’s mouth turned up, Hinata thought to himself, finally allowing himself to break out into a small grin, but careful not to say the words outloud:  
  
“…He’s happy.”  
  
“… Kageyama’s happy.”  
  
_

* * *

_  
It was Hinata and Kageyama’s first of many excursions into restricted areas. They reserved the act for when they were truly desperate, only when it was absolutely worth the risk._

_  
He doesn’t know why, but little by little, Hinata begins to find himself looking forward to them— looking forward to his and Kageyama’s time together in short, but_ treasured _excursions.  
  
_

* * *

  
They are standing in the middle of a massive room— one covered in steel from floor to ceiling so cold and technologically advanced that Hinata can barely feel himself breathe. The ceilings are tall, almost cathedral-like in height, with recessed lighting beaming down on them, as if further emphasizing the gargantuan size of the room. Still, it may as well have been the size of a small closet for Hinata—because it does absolutely nothing to relieve the suffocation and tenseness that he feels swarming through his body. His eyes are hastily scanning the room, darting back and forth uneasily, looking to see what the room had to offer to aid in his and Daichi’s survival. There is a weaponry area, showcasing every weapon imaginable, bow and arrow, sword, javelin, giant hammers, clubs, staffs—as well as things that Hinata personally couldn’t identify. There is a training area, obviously for the tributes to spar and practice with each other or with other tributes. There is a greenhouse area with plants settled on varying ladders differing in heights, plants separated by different uses, with a computer detailing their effects and uses. There is even a camouflage section, filled with paints, makeup, and other textural purposed things that one potentially needed to successfully hide. Hinata isn’t sure what use _that_ would be, since he is fairly sure paints and makeup _wouldn’t_ be readily available in the arena. Still, this training facility has _everything_. _Everything_ a person could possibly want and undoubtedly need for survival.  
  
“ _This_ will be your training period.” The overseer begins, raising his arms to gesture towards the various weapons and different areas of the facility. “You will have two weeks and access to this area from five in the morning to eight at night. You aren’t required to come here by any means, and there isn’t an allotted amount of time you’re required to fulfill. Make up your own minds about how much time you’d like to spend here. Practice and go over as much as you can. The only advice I can give you is not to focus too much on weaponry. You will most likely die of a “natural” non-violent means, things like infection, dehydration, and so forth. _Exposure_ can kill just as easily and probably even _easier_ than any weapon could.”

The way the overseer talks so casually about how they’ll ‘most likely’ die makes Hinata cringe. He can feel his skin crawl underneath his training outfit, like there are insects all over the length of his body. He isn’t sure if it’s fear or if its determination—but he _knows_ it has to do with the sheer will to live. The overseer stares at them, seeming almost robotic, if not for the apparent excitement shining in his eyes—the only thing on his body betraying his stiff, all-business stature. “There is to be _no_ fighting among the other tributes. As you know, you’ll have plenty of time for that in the arena.” Grinning, he clears his throat, then raises his hands.  
  
“Begin.”  
  
Hinata pauses, remaining steady on his feet, watching in amazement as the various tributes ran to wield spears, axes— doing anything they could to prepare themselves for the arena. He can feel his stomach begin to churn again, awestruck at the unnerving talent and aura these tributes possessed. He hasn’t had any specific training in the combat field and most of these tributes (if not all), seemed to have at least one thing they excelled at.

Oddly, he doesn’t feel intimidated. Only keen to see what he would be able to do to stand up to the rest of these tributes.

He’d find something, definitely, even if it took him until the facility closed this night.  
He would be of use to Daichi, and they would be able to rely on each other when the time came. They would go home—they would see their loved ones again, put all of this behind him and move on—because they were strong and they would survive.

As if reading his thoughts, Daichi puts a calm, reassuring hand on his shoulder, before nodding his head. “I’ll be over there.” He adds softly, and then after making sure Hinata had nothing further to say, wordlessly walks over to the weapons cart to assess the weight and feel of each one in his hands. Daichi has a stoic expression on his face, one blank of emotion. To Hinata, it seems that there is nothing on Daichi’s mind now except for the weapon in his hands. Still, Hinata couldn’t be sure. He may have been doing that on purpose.  
  
Hinata remains where he is, unsure of where to go. He begins to stare even more intently, tilting his head to the side, gauging which area he wanted to explore first. There is an anticipation that continues to bubble up within his chest as he watches the tributes exercise diverse movements in a show of unbelievable skill and tenacity.  
  
Hinata feels only more thrilled at the situation. Maybe he and Daichi really _do_ have a chance at this thing.  
  
Seconds later, other tributes are getting nervous looking at him. He hears one whisper to the other about how his face looks frightening.  
  
Ah. He must be giving them a strange look then. Kageyama always said his face turned into something a bit scary—something intimidating and almost uncharacteristic when he got too excited or overzealous to do something. Hinata shakes his head to snap out it. Heh. Kageyama was one to talk. His face definitely resembled something frightening when _he_ was upset too (and that was all the time). **  
**  
Hinata runs over to see what kinds of weapons there are, but they’re all heavy and unfamiliar. Instead of discouraging him, however, he feels more strengthened, full of even more eagerness to find a weapon that suited him perfectly. Swiftly, he begins to run from one side of the room to another, earning a few gasps from tributes from his remarkable speed. He tries everything, even the heavy javelin Daichi had begun to handle fairly well. Hinata finds himself finally settling down while playing with an oversized dagger, about to throw towards the designated targeting area for practice in aiming— until he is suddenly distracted by a booming, threatening voice behind him. The voice is saturated with anger—so much so that Hinata feels like he can see the tribute before even turning around. He swears he can feel the accused shaking with fear, probably cowering in some hasty attempt to protect himself from the other’s fury.

“Give it _back_ to me, bastard!” The tribute seethes, “That knife was my grandfather's!”  
  
Hinata hears another clash behind him, as a tribute with bright blonde hair shoves another forcefully into a mess of weapons, causing the carts to fall hit the ground in a loud clamor of _bangs_ and jambles _._ Hinata turns entirely—just like many of the other tributes—in curiosity of the situation at hand. It occurs only a few feet away from him, and he mindlessly finds himself stepping forward bit by bit to see the situation more clearly.  
  
Daichi steadfastly makes his way to Hinata, lifting his head up in surprise and concern. Peacekeepers are beginning to intercept, but the tribute is angry and shoves them back, yelling more unadulterated threats. The frown from his face has dissipated and only to be replayed by a bigger grin, almost taunting and challenging the trembling tribute. “I’ll kill you for stealing it!” A grin. “You’re the first one I’ll kill when I get into that arena! Won't that be fun?"  
  
_Geez_ , Hinata thinks, _these people are crazy_.  
  
The offending tribute shrugs the peacekeeper off his shoulder like it was nothing, before leaning his head back to scoff and almost-spit at the accused, frightened tribute. “Watch your back.” The blond tribute asserts, still bursting with adrenaline. If looks could kill, Hinata thought, that tribute would most certainly be dead now.  
  
The accused tribute, shaking and holding his hands over his head swears he didn’t do it. His partner doesn’t seem to be doing much to comfort or even defend him.  
  
Hinata’s eyes shift towards another tribute not far behind the accused (cowering) one, and he realizes it’s the one that was grinning lazily (and creepily) at them yesterday. _Kuroo_ , he thinks Takeda said his name was, _Kuroo Tetsurou_. There’s something about him that makes Hinata nervous, something about his presence that makes him feel like he’s being analyzed, being sized up without even knowing it. He can feel his skin react to it, the hairs on his arms and neck beginning to stand—when really, the Nekoma tribute isn’t even paying attention to him. Kuroo isn’t looking at Hinata. He is smirking, with his arms crossed and feline-like eyes fixed up onto the ceiling.  
  
Hinata looks up.  
  
There is another tribute, the one who accompanied the taller, scary looking one yesterday, looking bored, playing with the knife in his hands. He is plastered on the ceiling in a suspended net like it doesn’t require any skill at all, because his body isn’t unsteady or even the slightest bit uncomfortable from being hoisted up into the high, cathedral-like ceilings. It looks effortless and perfectly balanced. He has a bored, almost void expression on his face, as he continues to brandish the knife in his fingers, eyes lazing over to the owner.

At this point, Hinata is only capable of thinking of one thing.

_…So cool!_

“Those guys are pretty funny.” Hinata turns his head towards the source of the voice, the smooth voice of a silver, spiky-haired tribute speaking within earshot. The comment is genuine, one that didn’t seem to have any malice laced within it. He has his hand placed on the back of his head,his amber-gold eyes glancing down at his partner, with a half-smile. “…I don’t want to kill them.”  
  
His companion is quiet, dark haired and straight faced. He turns away, walking towards the practice arena, surveying it. He answers back in a clear, unwavering tone. “…If we’re lucky, we won’t have to.”  
  
Hinata is momentarily distracted at this, observing the two tributes as they stride away from the scene. He is so drawn into all the action that he doesn’t realize that Daichi is behind him. _  
  
_ “Are you all right?” Daichi asks from behind, gingerly putting a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. Hinata jumps at Daichi’s sudden presence, but relaxes instantly, before looking back up at the ceiling, where the blond, pudding-headed tribute is. He is making his way down now, not that anyone other than Hinata or his partner notice. Hinata turns his head to gaze to Daichi, shuffling enthusiastically side by side. “Have you found any weapons that you like, Daichi?”  
  
Daichi hums for a moment, before moving his head in affirmation. “I’ve found a lot of things that may help us in the arena. The javelin is good. I haven’t tried throwing it yet, but I’m sure I can get some decent distance and strength out of it.”

“Uwooah!!” Hinata cries, pumping his fists ardently, “Do you think there will be something like that in the arena?”  
  
“In the Cornucopia, probably”, Daichi says distractedly, before looking back at Hinata. “I doubt they’d place something here that they wouldn’t let us use in the arena, but I can’t be sure.” He lowers his voice, just in case someone is listening in. “We’ll probably be better off making our own though. I can probably do that if there’s sufficient wood and rocks I can use to sharpen a point.”

Hinata’s eyes are wide in amazement. Daichi can make his own weapons?!  
  
“What about you?”  
  
Hinata blinks, feeling ashamed, scraping his feet lightly over the ground. “W-Well, I haven’t found something _exactly_ …” He didn't actually use weapons often. When Kageyama and he went scavenging through the forests back at home, Kageyama did most of the actual hunting, while Hinata himself set lousy traps ( _‘you tie it like this, dumbass, or else the animal will easily be able to escape’_ ) and climb trees for dry wood.  
  
“It’s fine,” Daichi assures, smiling supportively at him. His confidence in Hinata remains undeterred. “We have time for you to explore this area some more. You already have your speed and the height of your jumps.”  
  
Hinata is excited again, because not only has Daichi complimented him on this (twice now!), but it makes him remember that _Kageyama_ did too.  
  
“It’ll help us a lot more than you think. Why don’t you go look at the camouflage stations or the stations that help with how to make fires?” Daichi shifts his weight a moment, looking around the room. “It’s where I’m headed next.”  
  
“To making fires?” Hinata questions, squinting at him while cocking his head to the side in surprise. Daichi always seemed like the type that already knew how to make fires.  
  
Daichi nods , almost as if in agreement while chuckling embarrassedly. “I… always had issues starting them on my own. Lack of patience, you know.” He lifts his hand up to the back of his head in a display of sudden diffidence that one doesn’t often associate with Daichi. His voice grows quieter in tone. “…Koushi always did it for me.”  
  
_Oh,_ Hinata thinks, figuring that that made sense.  
  
“Sugawara’s pretty cool, isn’t he?” Hinata begins to stretch his arms out, gesturing to make his point. He always admired Sugawara after all, always kind and always knew how to help. He wasn’t loud or overbearing either, he was just Sugawara. Reliable. Steadfast.  
  
There’s something in the way Daichi looks that makes Hinata blink and pause, because Daichi seems like he’s thinking about something, and his eyes are glazed and far away. It takes a few moments for him to look back at Hinata, before a tight smile suddenly appears on his tired features.  
  
“…Mm. He is.” When Daichi finally responds, his voice is quiet—before he shifts his weight to his other foot, his usual voice fully regained. “I’ll be practicing with the fires then, okay?”

At first Hinata wonders what that sudden instant was about, but he immeidately lets the thought escape him. He glances up at Daichi. “All right!”  
  
“Let me know if you need anything. Just try everything—as much as you can.” Daichi adds calmly, before turning to walk away. “I’m sure you’ll find something eventually!”

* * *

  
When Hinata approaches the camouflage section, he sees the aforementioned pudding head boy-- _pudding_ , because his hair was dyed blonde, but his black roots were beginning to show, sitting and playing with his game as if he was sitting anywhere— anywhere else other than here. Hinata can hear the “ping!” from his handheld, and he immediately makes his way over.

  
“Hey!” Hinata feels the bubbles of exhilaration inside him and he grins enthusiastically, running up to male, who has by now pulled his knees up to his chest, hunched over and leaning his chin on his knees. His recoiling does nothing to deter Hinata, only spurs him on even more to speak. “How did you do that?”  
  
The male in question looks up at Hinata, surprised (or as surprised as he could look with such a calm, blank demeanor).  
  
“…Do what?” He says softly, curling up faintly while leaning back against the pillar behind him.  
  
“I’m Hinata Shouyou!” Hinata declares proudly, upon realizing they haven’t been introduced. He puffs his chest out, in a show of pride and enthusiasm. “I wanted to know how to you did that...” He begins to gesticulate, making wild movements and pointing up at the ceiling, “that...up in the ceiling, after stealing that weapon from that guy! It was so cool!”  
  
Hinata’s eyes are practically _gleaming_ with stars.  
  
“Ah…” the tribute ponders quietly, eyes glancing up at him. “Shouyou. “ He repeats, before adding, “ …I’m Kozume Kenma.” His reply is in an even quieter and even more monotone voice. He looks up at Hinata, blinking slowly, then shrugging. “…I’ve always climbed things back at home. We all do.”

Hinata figured that meant there were trees back where he was from, and he wondered if they were as beautiful and as green as the ones back home. He didn’t know much about the other districts, but still, he was curious—finding himself wanting to experience the different districts, like experiencing different worlds.  
  
Obviously, it would be impossible to travel there. But he could still wonder, right?

“At home? So all of you can climb like that?” Hinata asks, sitting next to him and grinning. He sways his feet as his mind is engulfed in shallow thought. “Where are you from…? Are there lots of trees or something?”  
  
Kenma coils up again at Hinata’s advancing closeness. Hinata isn’t sure if he’s making the other uncomfortable and just squints his eyes in response. He doesn’t move away.  
  
“….District 11. You probably know it as Nekoma.”

District 11? He wasn’t sure what District 11 provided the Capitol, so he narrows his eyes in thought, thinking back to the tribute parade. The two Nekoma tributes were dressed fairly silly, in his opinion. There were no iridescent shimmers in their outfits, no cool leather designs, just overalls, plaid, and puffs that didn’t make sense. They looked like… farmers.

Hinata scrunches up his face in mild distaste. He’s sure that if Kenma and his partner had _Kiyoko_ as their stylist, they wouldn’t look so mediocre.  
  
Was that their district’s purpose? Agriculture?

Still, despite their clothing at the parade, they were able to catch Daichi’s attention—enough to threaten Ukai into thinking they should bring their conversation elsewhere. And from what Hinata had just seen, their ability and stealth wasn’t to be ignored.

“Oh! Oh, yeah, the district they call Nekoma!” Hinata grins, scratching his head. “Actually, our escort told us all about you last night…but... “  
  
He forgot.  
Yes, in all the excitement, he’d forgotten everything Takeda had told them.  
  
Kenma remains unfazed by this and nods lightly. “You’re… from Karasuno, right?”  
  
“Yeah!” Hinata beams, even though there isn’t any particular thing to be proud of, “there isn’t really anything we specialize at, but we’re not particularly weak either!”  
  
Kenma’s eyes brighten,seemingly endeared by Hinata's honesty, shoulders marginally relaxing from their previous tight state, blinking in understanding.  
  
“Are you practicing here in the camouflaging station?” Hinata questions, gesturing towards the countless paints and tools. By now, Kenma has put his handheld down, watching Hinata interestedly. “I think I can do a little bit of this!” Hinata claims, pushing himself up and picking up one of the paintbrushes.

Hinata moves the paintbrush against his hand, his tongue sticking out while his brows furrowed in concentration. Disguise was definitely easier with all these materials around. If only they were as easily accessible at home. He and Kageyama would never be caught. They’d be unstoppable.

A few minutes later, Hinata lifts his hand, placing it on a patch of dirt. It matches perfectly.

“Ah…” Kenma is surprised, though it’s made apparent only through minimal widening of his feline eyes.

“I used to hide from the peacekeepers a lot in the village, like a decoy, sneaking around prohibited areas to find scraps and food they’d throw away.” Hinata smiled proudly, resting his hands on his hips. “I’d rustle and make noises if the peacekeepers started to notice Kage—“ He hesitated, realizing Kenma wouldn’t know who that was. “Started to notice—my…friend,” he finishes, for lack of better word, then regains his previous fervor. “ _And then I’d hide in plain sight_!”  
  
Kenma blinked.  
  
Hinata pauses at Kenma’s reaction, then smiles sheepishly, scratching the back of his head, almost embarrassedly.

“I…I can teach you, if you want! But show me the ceiling thing first—okay?”  
  
When there isn’t an answer, only an inquisitive gaze that is fixed up at him, Hinata deflates. Kenma stays seated, continued to eye him curiously, curling his feet up and remaining in his hunched position. “Kenma,” he whispers, now sitting on the floor, situating his legs in a crisscross manner, “how did you end up here?”  
  
Kenma tilts his head, before craning his head to look up at the ceiling to focus on one of the lights that was flickering on and off. “…I was picked.” He said simply. “Kuroo came late to the reaping, too late to volunteer for me.” He looked back down at his handheld, the screen now blank. “…So he volunteered for the other person instead.” Kenma paused, but it didn’t appear like he was going to add anything else.

“Ooh,” Hinata voices, with his mouth opening in surprise as he claps his hands on his thighs. Did that mean that Kuroo guy was nice after all? He _did_ volunteer for to keep Kenma company. That’s what it appeared like anyway.  
  
He might look scary with that weird bedhead hairstyle of his but…  
  
“Are you two like…” Hinata shifts, searching for the right words. “…really close?”  
  
Hinata knew that people didn’t just “volunteer” for anyone. Volunteers were essentially trading their life for someone else’s. That kind of sacrifice wasn’t often taken lightly. Kenma _had_ to have meant something to Kuroo. The feeling was only too familiar to Hinata, after having volunteered himself. Kuroo’s act was done because Kenma was important to him. Much like how Sugawara was important to Daichi and how Hinata...  
  
“Hm,” Kenma answers quietly, in thoughtful speculation. “He’s…the only one.”

Huh? The only one?

Like his only family?  
But Kuroo and Kenma _don’t_ look related, not in the least, so he figures Kenma must mean something else.  
  
Hinata is confused, but tries to smile up at Kenma. Maybe they can talk more while they train, and maybe even before the interviews in a few days. His cool demeanor intrigued Hinata and despite the situation they were in, Hinata wanted to get to know him.

“Daichi and I are pretty good friends too!” Kenma’s eyes flicker down to observe him, but Hinata laughs awkwardly at his own statement. “W-Well, we’re not the _only_ ones around, but… we helped each other out whenever we could!” He adds happily. Hinata swears he can see the slightest upward turn in Kenma’s lips.

There is a pregnant pause that follows after. One that isn’t tense, but feels like it’s about to burst. It was obvious the two were attempting to communicate, but neither knew what to say or where to begin. Neither knew where to start and both were completely intent on letting the other initiate.

“There you are.” A strong, somewhat lazy sounding voice suddenly comes up behind them and it makes Hinata flinch and jump up to hide behind Kenma, in some futile way to shield himself. It’s that Kuroo guy. Hinata pouts, eyeing him suspiciously. Even though he’s mostly quiet (and even though he’s here to be with Kenma), he’s still scary.

“Don’t make me search for you all the time. You can’t disappear like this in the arena.” His voice isn’t threatening, Hinata notices, not even condescending—just tired, even though there’s a playful tone in the (scary) drawl of his voice. Hinata figured Kenma wandering off on his own must have been a common occurrence.

“Come on, there’s something I want to show you.” Kuroo says, before glancing back at Hinata. Hinata bristles again at the sudden eye contact, but Kuroo’s eyes flit away from him in less than a second.  
  
Kenma nods, getting up to follow, but not before turning back to Hinata, smiling slightly and waving. Kuroo has his head turned, staring back at Hinata as well.

“See you later…, Shouyou.”  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
At a distance, Hinata can’t help but eye them interestedly. Kuroo seems to have led Kenma towards the greenhouse area, specifically to a small patch of grass, with several step ladders riddled with various plants at different heights. Kuroo is pointing at the plants, saying something before finally reaching down and picking one up, then slowly kneeling down on the grass before sitting with Kenma.  
  
Kenma is on the grass (he didn’t even bother with standing), legs outstretched forward, cocking his head to the side, lifting his head, curiously sniffing (apparent only through the slight twitching of his nose) the plant that Kuroo is holding up to him. The two move so languidly that Hinata is sure they must have been cats in another life. Still, he heard something about Nekoma having an unnatural population of cats, so maybe that had something to do with it. Kuroo gazes at Kenma expectantly, then raises his long arm to point at the plant he is holding for Kenma, then back at another still situated on the stepladders, as if comparing between the two.  
  
Kenma nods in response, now sniffing another plant Kuroo is holding up for him.  
  
Suddenly feeling awkward, Hinata turns away, cheeks warm and red from the sight. The scene seemed much too intimate to continue to watch.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

Hours later, Hinata discovers something that he absolutely _has_ to try.  
  
“Uwooh!!” Hinata takes a moment to appreciate the large monument in front of him, an obstacle course, complete with nets, tunnels, metal floors that randomly fall open, hanging rings, monkey bars (with wind blowing on either side to force a tribute to lose balance), pitfalls, as well as a downward drop into an enormous body of water. There were springers situated throughout the water, where one had to jump and keep balance (even with the spring moving beneath) to land safely to another. It looked like a giant playground, even had a slide that lead down to an area in the ground colored red. Apparently if a tribute fell into any ‘red’ sections on the mat, it meant that they fell into something life-threatening and inescapable. Essentially, it meant that if you fell on those areas in the actual arena, you could consider yourself already dead.

Tributes are on each side of him, running through the obstacles, a few falling into the pitfalls while others into the water with a yelp of discomfort. Another tribute seems to have gotten his leg stuck through a net. There were tributes aside him, snickering.  
  
Hinata is yanked out of his thoughts by the sound of a simultaneous splash and yelp. _The water must be cold_ , Hinata thinks, noting the nonstop shivering of a tribute frantically trying to make his way out of the water. Hinata’s eyes then rise up to a tribute climbing a wall of tangled nets, another with a flash of silvery hair struggling to get his broader shoulders through the narrow tunnels.  
  
Hinata pumps his fists fervently, then turns away, before dashing towards the course, digging his feet into the ground and propelling himself into the obstacles.  
  
Hinata makes it through the entire course, weaving in and out the corners, climbing up the nets with ease and crawling through tunnels in record time. He uses his small stature as well as his daunting jumping height to his advantage. By now, many of the tributes are staring at him in surprise, whispering amongst each other. The obstacles within the arena—in the huge jungle-like gymnasium—were surprisingly effortless for Hinata. Grapping ropes, balancing his feet and pulling himself up and using his whole body somehow exhilarated him, energized him, powering him through the course. He had forgotten about everything and everyone else, and by the time he was finished, it took him an entire minute to realize that he was out of breath.

Daichi approaches Hinata, smiling proudly at him, clapping him in the back, positively beaming at Hinata’s success. “That was amazing,” he compliments, shaking his head at the feat. “I wouldn’t be able to do that,” he chuckles, not in any self-deprecating way, but more in an appreciative, awe-like voice.  
  
Hinata shakes his head, jumping up passionately, hopping from foot to foot. “You could!”  
  
Daichi smirks, then takes a moment to look over at the obstacle course. More and more people are attempting it, though they seem to be getting worse at it. Daichi isn’t sure if it’s because they’re mediocre, or if it was simply the fact that they had gone _after_ Hinata that they looked almost incompetent.  
  
“I have more weight to pull around.” Daichi adds casually, gesturing towards his own, stockier build. “I will try the obstacle course later though,” he is rolling his shoulders back now, “maybe when it’s less crowded. I want to go slowly, sort of get used to the surroundings. That way, I can figure out how to get maximum speed with my body type.”

Daichi was always really smart like that. While everyone else sped and dashed through everything, he’d usually take it slowly, making note of every detail. Hinata has unwavering faith in Daichi and knows nonetheless that he’ll do fine. When Hinata opens his mouth to voice his opinion, Daichi interrupts, now looking up towards a corner.

“Hm.” His voice speculative. “It looks like you have a shadow.”  
  
A shadow?  
  
At this, Hinata turns his head, looking over behind him and seeing—expecting—to see Kenma there; peering behind a wall, their eyes locking for a fleeting moment, before the other quickly stiffens, stepping back and hiding, presumably to flee.  
  
Hinata smiles, then swiftly makes his way over to his new-found friend, leaving Daichi to scrutinize the obstacle course more fully. “Kenma,” he has somewhat of a singsong voice now, chasing after the pudding-headed boy delightedly, “Wait!”

* * *

  
Kenma flinches at the sound, as if surprised to be caught—even though he was so obviously peeking behind a corner. He pauses midstride, as if stopped just by the sound of Hinata’s voice.  
  
“Did you try the obstacle course?” Mid-sentence, Hinata speeds up, running so he can walk in stride with the other. Hinata makes a slight twirling motion so he can face Kenma completely; walking backwards as gracefully as one can—avoiding random weaponry carts and other things in his way. Hinata is wildly motioning at everything, making an innumerable amount of sound effects. Kenma looks on interestedly, unsure of how a person can speak so much. “The wind was blowing so hard I thought I’d get thrown off my feet! I got splashed a bit when a tribute fell—the water was _ice_ cold! The nets and the springers were really fun too!” He stops to breathe, but only for second, before regaining his previous energy. “I bet you could do really well in there, especially with your climbing skills—you must be really good at balancing, huh?”  
  
Suddenly, Hinata pauses, blinking to himself and stuck within his thoughts. He peers around the training arena, left and right, before pursing his lips and looking back at Kenma. “…Where’s Kuroo? “ Hinata almost forgot about Kenma’s partner and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know _where_ he actually was, but didn’t Kuroo ask Kenma not to wander off again?  
  
“…He’s over at the obstacle course.” Kenma discloses timidly, hunching down, almost as if he is cold. He is holding his handheld tightly, while his yellow, feline-like eyes slowly glance over at the obstacle course Hinata had just completed. Hinata follows the direction of his gaze and looks on interestedly.  
  
Kuroo, at that very moment, was climbing one of the nets. The net was full of holes of different sizes, a few small, others ridiculously big. The point was to throw the climber off in every way possible— to make them fall into the red zone or into the freezing water. Some parts of the nets even had a gloopy, slippery substance on them—no doubt to make the climber’s hands slip. Watching Kuroo climb looked awkward due to his height, but he was doing fairly well (even though he didn’t stand out too much). Others around him were falling into either the red zones or the ice water below—and even though Kuroo didn’t look extraordinarily good, he was doing better than most. Hinata supposed it had something to do with Kenma saying ‘they all could climb’ back in his district, but Hinata couldn’t help but watch even closer.  
  
The spiky, silver-haired tribute that had caught Hinata’s attention earlier was trailing closely behind Kuroo and by the looks on their faces, it almost seemed like the two were having a race. The colors of their training uniforms drew Hinata’s eye more to the match, with the shades of gold, black and white jarring against the red and black.  
  
Their training clothes had been colored specifically so that tributes could tell amongst each other without having to rely on their ability to recall faces or names. Somehow, Daichi and he had ended up with orange and black, swirled together in a kaleidoscopic way, like there was a fire blazing within.  
  
“ _Oh-_!” Suddenly the silver-haired tribute’s leg becomes stuck within one of the holes of the net. He shoots his hand hastily up into the air to grab onto some kind of support, unfortunately grabbing onto one of the said-sticky-slippery areas, causing himself to fall dramatically backward while the angle of his foot remained stuck within the net acting as the _only_ thing holding him secure. _“—hoho_!” His yells were comical, especially with his arms flailing out, panicking to grab anything to right his position.

Kuroo pops his head out from the top of the netting, obviously having won the race, securely balanced—and grinning a languid, albeit _infuriating_ grin. “ _Ohoho_?”  
  
Hinata furrows his eyes at the sight. He isn’t sure if they’re getting along, or if Kuroo is just making fun of the other tribute. Remarkably, said silver-haired tribute was able to pull himself up without falling (unknowingly showing how strong he was to lift his tall, muscular body off the net and right side up again), pouting dejectedly at the other— who continued to lazily grin down at him.  
  
Hinata’s attention returns to Kenma when his thoughts are interrupted by Kenma’s soft, almost inaudible voice.  
  
“I… don’t really feel like doing it.” Kenma stares down at his feet, eyes narrowing to smaller, more focused slits. He planned on returning to the obstacle course later, to find and discover ways for him to utilize his time as best as possible with his non-athletic build. Kenma figured he had to—but he didn’t want to— not when there were countless eyes focusing on the area. He would wait, wait until later, then seize any kind of opening or strategy he could find.  
  
He had been watching anyway, for the past hour, watching tribute after tribute and taking note of their weaknesses.  
  
Hinata smiles at Kenma, unaware of the strategic thoughts running through Kenma’s mind. Hinata waves a hand dismissively, shaking his head. “That’s okay!” Hinata pipes up, happily smiling at the pudding-headed tribute. “We…we can do something else, okay? You _still_ have to show me the ceiling thing! We have two weeks, so let’s start now!”  
  
With that, Kenma shakes his head in the affirmative, slowly following the exuberant orange-headed boy, while clutching his handheld. They make their way to the climbing station, locked in mutual conversation (or at least, in Hinata’s conversation). Though the two did not know each other for long, Kenma genuinely liked Hinata’s gentle openness –while Hinata was drawn to Kenma’s shy, yet attentive aura. They managed to calm each other and found a sort of haven within each other without searching for it or even realizing it. Somehow, they found solace outside of their partner within the madness of the Capitol.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Unfortunately, neither tribute seems to take into account that there would be absolutely _no_ chances of _both_ their teams coming out of these games alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note [M]: I hope you like this chapter! The actual Games draws near.... but not for another few chapters. LOL Thank you for keeping up with us, we appreciate it!
> 
> Author’s Note [K]: Did you like the KageHina in the beginning? There will be many moments to look forward to in the future~gasp! (And not just for KageHina!) Also, what is this hunger Hinata is feeling? (Lmao, Author M and I tease poor Hinata for his obliviousness. We had a lot of fun giving him a difficult time too!) Do you have any moments you’re hoping for? Any pairing you’re excited to see more of? Please let us know how we’re doing or how you like the story so far. We’d really, really love any kind of feedback. There will be more emphasis on the other teams later, no worries! The next chapter is loads of fun— every team gets its chance to shine! 
> 
> Thank you to all of you who have left feedback so far! Again, we can’t describe how happy it makes us (especially those of you who are with us in every chapter. ;u; It makes me smile and it really makes my day. <3 So thank you, thank you very much.)


	7. The Interviews

**7. _The Interviews_**

_District 12:_ Karasuno _, where coal and minerals are mined exclusively for the Capitol. It is one of, if not_ the _most unfortunate of all the districts, harboring a population that literally survives one day at a time, relying only on each other’s company and support.  
  
Karasuno’s district symbol is a _ black crow—like bird covered in soot: _sometimes abbreviated to a simple black feather._

_There was a brief time when Karasuno had really shone— and it was during the uprising against the Capitol. Standing strong amongst its neighbors, the people of the Karasuno district had spread their wings in futile attempt to overthrow the Capitol that had belittled and neglected their right to be free, free of fear and free from harm. Despite their hopes, the plans to overthrow the Capitol were thwarted easily after a few initial moments of victory. It was rumored that the Capitol had pretended to be weak to incite a kind of hope within the districts, the kind of hope that is unprecedented, burning brighter than anything ever before— so that they could ultimately take it all away and crush them by destroying the world around them—both inside and out.  
  
Once the districts were defeated, Karasuno had almost lost all semblances of hope. They were completely shattered and left in pieces. They could no longer fly, and so were given the name, “The Flightless Crows.” _

_For several years after, the inhabitants of the Karasuno district managed to survive off the bitter ends of the Capitol’s wealth, greed and cruelty. It reached the point where people became tolerant of the way they lived, with the next generation of children becoming ‘used’ to the way things were, so familiarized with the Capitol’s rule that they became somewhat_ accepting _and turned a blind eye to the situation. They became acquainted with the occurrence of the yearly reapings, fearing the age of twelve and dreading to feel the relief that inevitably settled in when another name—that was_ not _their own— was called. They did not want to feel fear for their loved ones, but of course had no way of avoiding it.  
  
_ This year’s reaping was slightly different _. It stood out. Two individuals were chosen, but two entirely different people left. No one in the history of District Karasuno has_ ever _volunteered. The wealthier districts, often called the "career" districts, seemed hypnotized with the Capitol and their ‘reasons’ for holding the Hunger Games. Wealthier districts that glorified the games had volunteers all the time, bred their children to kill from an early age. They were brainwashed—seeing the notion of fighting and winning the games as a way to bring honor and pride back to their districts. They were blind. Blinded by the Capitol.  
  
In the outlying, more pitiful districts like Karasuno and Nekoma, volunteers came about rarely, if not at all. They knew the truth, knew they were being punished for past grievances. Yet, until that very moment, when two volunteers left in place of their loved ones, no one had the gall to willingly take another’s death sentence. _

_With two volunteers standing on the stage, the energy resonating within the courtyard was different. Hundreds of eyes staring up at them, seemingly screaming and questioning their actions—while neither of the two volunteers wished to make eye contact. The two sought only to keep their loved ones out of the arena. They did not want to start anything, did not want to incite the chance of another revolution. What is_ most _important here is that they did. They knowingly put their lives on the line selflessly for another, starting with the tightly gripped fists and determined eyes that had finally started to realize that maybe, just maybe, they_ can _make a change.  
  
Sawamura Daichi and Hinata Shouyou’s inadvertent act of bravery had sparked in volumes within the districts. One gesture, perceived as “cute and endearing” from the Capitol had unintentionally sparked hope and opportunity. It was a tiny spark of light—threatening to become a raging fire, causing Karasuno’s tight, flightless wings to unfurl—outstretched and soaring into the sky.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…_

 _It’s been an extraordinarily long time since this crow has taken to the skies, but birds never_ truly _forget how to fly._

 

* * *

 

 “You’ll want to find water _immediately_.” Ukai is leaning back into his chair sloppily, making it screech raucously against the luxurious hardwood floors, unintentionally making those present at the table wince. He is almost laying back, his body slid down onto the chair, seemingly unaware of the fact that they were all seated, having dinner at this extravagant (mahogany) dinner table. Obviously, a life of affluence and the promise of riches did nothing to improve Ukai’s posture, his manners or even his appearance. He looks just as disheveled as ever, with his blond hair let down from their usual imprisonment under his headband, instead messily pulled back into a small ponytail with several strands escaping and framing his tired face. He had changed into something ‘more comfortable’ because Takeda insisted, with his sleeves casually rolled up and shirt left unbuttoned. There are dark circles under his eyes, no doubt from not having slept well for several nights.

Still, despite his less than stellar appearance, he is a wealth of information—having actually won these Games before. Daichi ignores his conduct, and truthfully, no one seems to take his behavior to mind, except Takeda of course, who glanced quickly at their mentor before returning to the delicacies in front of him.  
  
Moments after, Ukai again filled the room with the sound of his gruff voice. “I’m sure you already know, but if you don’t have water—you’ll probably be among one of the first ones dead. The conditions in the arena won’t be good enough for you to sustain yourself long without it.”  
  
Daichi raises his eyes up from his sumptuous meal, regarding Ukai carefully as he chewed. Ukai’s words were confident and resolute, his eyes glazed over as if unwittingly recounting his own experiences. Each word issaid with purpose, none with ease, all heavily drenched with a feeling of either dread or sheer annoyance at having to even say them. Their mentor seemed to have a slight personality change over the past few days, at first purposely avoiding too much time with them to abruptly offering advice without needing to be hassled for it. Daichi figures they must have done something that either endeared them to their mentor, or done something that inadvertently caused their mentor to suddenly have more faith in them. Whatever it was, Daichi couldn’t be sure. So instead, his mind gradually wanders back to his mentor’s words.  
  
So conditions in the arena were likely so bad that they wouldn’t last without water for even a few hours? He grimaces, biting his inner cheek, feeling the soft skin between his teeth, almost wishing he had paid more attention the Hunger Games back at home instead of immediately passing by.  
  
He and Sugawara never had a reason to watch.  
They would always spend time together instead, deciding that time spent with those one cared about meant more than watching your kinsmen die needlessly.  
  
“ _Don’t_ go to the Cornucopia?” Hinata inquires, haphazardly reaching over to grab some bright red crab legs from across the table. Hinata and Daichi had actually seen the live crabs taken in earlier today by the avoxes ( _‘Uowahhh! So this is what crabs are?!'_ ), made fresh, and of course, unbelievably good.  
  
“The Cornucopia will be a blood-bath. It’s there to reel you in, manipulate you into taking the bait. Your job is to run, find shelter—preferably on high ground—and find water.”  
  
Hinata looks like he’s about to respond, until he actually takes a bite out of his crab. “ _Oooooouuaaahhh_!” He makes a high-pitched sound of excitement, face scrunching into what one could only describe as ‘pure bliss’ as he takes another bite. Hinata wasn’t sure if he’d like it—not with the trouble he had opening it, but with Takeda’s help, he was soon opening more at increasing speeds and deft. Daichi and Hinata had obviously never had crab before and Hinata’s excited response makes Daichi chuckle to himself.  
  
He wonders how Sugawara would like crab.  
  
_If he survived_ … then maybe he’d be able to bring some home for the other to try. He can almost see the anticipation glimmering in Sugawara’s eyes at having tasted a crab for the first time. It makes him happy to think of Sugawara during times like this, even though he tried his utter best to avoid doing so.

Pleased, Takeda straightens up proudly, as if he had prepared the dinner himself. “ _I know_. Isn’t it wonderful? We have only the finest and freshest seafood here in the Capitol—just as we do with any other type of meat. That,” Takeda declares with gleeful countenance, pointing gracefully at the crabs that Hinata is devouring, “is Keishin’s _favorite_. Along with the rib-eye steak of course!”  
  
Ukai only grunts in response, but otherwise says nothing. Daichi figured it must’ve been true because Ukai, who rarely ate to excess, had already reached back for the crab probably three or four times. That, and he seemed to pink in the cheeks when Takeda spoke up. Just a little. Embarrassed—probably.  
  
“What about weapons?” Daichi absently swirls his fork on his plate, his mind temporarily distracted from the plate of food. “If we run, then the other districts will get ahold of them.”  
  
Ukai shakes his head, reaching up a hand to dismiss the thought. “You’ll still be better off finding water.” He takes a small sip out of his wine before glancing over at Daichi. “Besides, I heard you’re pretty efficient with taking things as they come. You can probably form a makeshift one until you get a real weapon, right? How are you on defense?”  
  
Daichi nods, eyes averted in thought, self-assured in his abilities and in his strength. He wasn’t _incredibly_ strong, but he did work out enough back at home to ensure he had at least some muscle mass. Having been orphaned, he needed to be prepared for absolutely anything that could have happened. He wanted to be ready—in case something happened to the house or (he grimaced) to _someone_ else. He wanted to fix problems himself with his own strengths, without burdening others. He almost laughs—remembering Sugawara’s face the first time he noticed the change in Daichi’s body. Sugawara had instantly reached out, feeling Daichi’s skin under his clothes.  
  
It made his cheeks grow warm.  
  
_‘Geez, Daichi! You have muscles now!’ Sugawara would say, with a cheeky grin on his face._  
  
Quickly, so as not to get caught up within his own thoughts, he looks up at Ukai. “I can make weapons if there’s something I can work with. Shields, too.”  
  
His voice doesn’t waver. Truthfully, he was much more skilled at defense than he was at anything else, especially since his stocky build helped him to gain leverage by planting his strong legs into the ground. Despite that advantage, Daichi barely factored it in much in light of the Games. While it was important to have a strong _defense_ …  
  
He knew the truth, even though the words resounded in his mind—and even though he _didn’t_ want to think about it.  
  
-  
  
_In all things, one cannot win on defense alone.  
To win, you _ must _attack._

-  
  
“We’ll make do!” Hinata’s eyes are glistening while he pumps his fists up and down into the air. He has a small piece of rice resting on the edge of his lip (and when Daichi’s gaze falls on Hinata’s plate, it was already void of what was there previously). It looked like a clean, unused plate. Takeda beams warmly at the orange-headed boy, leaning over to snatch some kind of delicacy that Daichi isn’t sure of, only knowing that it appears to be some kind of meat.  
  
“Try this,” Takeda adds gently, almost paternally, before Hinata grins and takes it whole-heartedly. It isn’t long until Daichi hears that squeal of delight in tandem with Takeda’s proud expression. “Would you like some, Daichi?”  
  
Daichi shifts his gaze to Takeda, eyeing the ‘fashionable’ man among them and nods, only half smiling. Over the past few days, he wondered if Takeda had ever sat down and watched the Games, because his incredible obliviousness to the suffering of the tributes completely escaped him. Takeda would often say things that would make Daichi and Hinata uncomfortable, but in a way where it was clear that he _wasn’t_ aware of the volumes or the ramifications behind the words that escaped his mouth. Daichi wondered briefly if Takeda would react differently to the Games this year, since he seemed especially proud of them.  
  
“Thank you.”  
  
“Of course!”  
  
When Daichi takes a bite out of the proffered food, he is almost shocked by how mind-blowingly good it is. He isn’t sure if everything is this way because it really _is_ that amazing or if it’s because Hinata and he had never had anything worth truly bragging about. He figures it must have been both.

“Any ideas on what the arena might be?” Daichi swallows, wiping his mouth with a silk napkin provided on the table. Ukai ignores him, pouring more wine into his glass. For what seems like hours, the only sounds at the table are the _‘glug, glug, glug’_ from the liquid escaping the bottle. Daichi purses his lips stubbornly. He wonders why the man hasn’t already procured some horrible disease from all this alcohol. His liver must be in a dire state—if not already in shambles.

“No,” Ukai hums, swirling the glass in front of him, before taking a long appreciate sip. He sighs contently before raising his eyes up at Daichi. “It’s up to the game maker. It’s different every year, obviously. I’m sure you’ve heard of that one year where they made the arena an arctic tundra—everyone was dead before anyone could even make a kill. Died of hypothermia.”

At this, Hinata’s eyes shot up—clearly about to say something—something _passionate_ , because his eyes were fiery, mirroring the ember-like color in his hair, before he began sputtering and coughing on his food. Takeda hurriedly rose from his seat, patting his back, encouraging him to drink some water.

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” Daichi growls irately, with Hinata nodding fervently in between coughs and hacks for breath to show his full agreement. “If they’re going to _bother_ dragging us here, why not hire a game maker with half a brain?” Daichi knew he’d get reprimanded for saying this by Takeda, but Ukai interrupts before their escort can even react to the statement.

“Which is why it _hasn’t_ happened again in over decades. You can imagine that the citizens weren’t too happy.”

Daichi sneered. No, of _course_ they wouldn’t. Watching people freeze to death would do nothing for their sick game and twisted entertainment. Watching people kill each other like animals? Yeah. Now _that_ was entertainment.  
  
“In any case,” Ukai begins, as if sensing Daichi’s increasing anger, his glass already emptied, “you’ll know when you know. For now let’s keep our mind settled on what’s happening tomorrow. You have your scores…”  
  
Takeda straightens up, pouting with his lower lip jutted out, glancing over at Ukai. He was still visibly a bit annoyed with earlier events, though he seemed to have mostly gotten over it.

Daichi smirked. Earlier, Hinata and he had their individual scores placed based on evaluation. Daichi…had more or less lost his temper with them and sending his spear whizzing right past the head game maker's face and straight into the wall behind him.  
  
…Right where all of those involved with game-making had been gathered around it.  
  
There was a silence that followed after, with all eyes piercing through him. He thought they would call for his death at that instant, but almost immediately after—he heard a soft, cracking noise. The game maker and sponsors had hastily dispersed at the noise, moving as far away from the spear as possible—as it began to whir right back to Daichi in immeasurable speed. It turned out that there was some kind of magnetic attraction behind the metal inside the spears and the weapon cart behind him, causing it to react like that. But Daichi had swiftly taken a broadsword from the shelves, turning to so it was facing the spear at its widest angle, skillfully deflecting the spear away from his body.  
  
There was a collected _‘oooh’_ following the deflection, before he bowed irately and left wordlessly.

* * *

A few days before the Games commencement, each tribute was to display their own special skill sets to the game makers and were thus given scores ranging from one to twelve. One being the lowest, and twelve being the highest. Scores are then revealed to Capitol citizens for betting and sponsoring. To other tributes, it was up to them to use the scores as a basis to decide on who to go after or who to avoid.

Daichi had decided to show his spear throwing while Hinata, after eventually getting over his anxiety-induced stomach ailments, showed off his amazing agility using the obstacle course.

* * *

  
_“You did_ what??” _Takeda was beside himself, emanating in shame and also what_ appeared to be _concern. His stress and frustration was prominent in the air, evidenced by his pacing back and forth in the room in a way that honestly didn’t bother Daichi at all—only really made him want to roll his eyes at the man.  
  
What did their escort expect?  
  
Daichi and Hinata had been dragged over here and forced to participate in a contest that involved killing everyone else in the arena. He bet _ Takeda _would have been just as irritated to walk into the room, see that no one was paying attention (and then STILL not pay attention after introducing himself,_ because why were they bothering to take him here if they weren’t even going to bat an eye at him? _). As Daichi’s eyes followed their escort, going left and right, following the movements of their escort’s feet, he could feel a heavy sense welling up within him, ready to sigh heavily at Takeda’s over-reactive worrying. However, he resisted the temptation and decided just to grit his teeth and explain himself instead.  
  
“…I lost my temper. They didn’t even turn over to me when I came in.”  
  
“Then you wait until they do!” Takeda replied, throwing his gloved hands up exasperatedly. He didn’t seem angry at them, only embarrassed and worried. “You’ve put yourself in a serious situation. What if they—” Takeda’s emphasis on the last three words of his sentence really _ did _make Daichi roll his eyes.  
  
_ “… _Maybe this way, the sponsors will remember him. Ukai did say to make an impression.” Kiyoko attempted quietly, sitting up and resting her hands on her knees. Daichi and Hinata nodded at Kiyoko, as if relying on her to stave off Takeda’s growing worry.  
  
“I’ll have to go up to the sponsors later and formally apologize—”  
  
Daichi cringed. It did make him feel bad to know that Takeda was going to do that. He heard that some other tributes ‘misbehaved’, but none of their escorts actually took the time to fix the situation. Maybe, in some little way, Takeda actually cared what was going to happen to them.  
  
Or was he just _ that _worried about their image in the Capitol?  
  
Ugh. Was it so wrong to decide to get the attention himself? Daichi was just being himself, being assertive and taking matters into his own hands. Still, the more he thought about it, he felt guilty about the situation for Hinata’s sake. Since they were teams, their overall scores would be combined and if Daichi’s act reflected badly, well… that would be detrimental for both of them.  
  
If their scores were low, then their chances of garnering enough interest among sponsors were at stake.  
  
Daichi had lost his patience. Just like he always had.  
  
‘Koushi would’ve been shaking his head if he were here.’ He thought, grimacing. He could almost hear Sugawara’s voice in his head, reprimanding him. He should’ve been more patient. He should’ve grit his teeth and waited._

_Ukai had sauntered into the room at that point, somewhat surprising Daichi and Hinata. They rarely ever saw Ukai and Takeda apart— especially since they’d been in the Capitol. Maybe he was sneaking off to the bar while Takeda was busy with other things._

_“There you are!” Takeda said, approaching him with hands fidgeting nervously.“Did you hear about the situation?” Takeda’s frustrated eyes had morphed into large round circles now, imploring, looking for support—with cheeks painted with hues of pink and red.  
  
Honestly, it sounded like Daichi was being reprimanded for being an unruly child, Takeda obviously the dramatic (probably overprotective) one while Ukai was more the…indifferent, enabling one._

_Daichi thinks he saw the corners of Ukai’s lips come up, his usually blank-emotionless eyes illuminated with exhilaration. Wordlessly, he lifts his hand, making a ‘thumbs up’ with his left hand._

_Kiyoko smiles._

_“Nice.”  
  
Yep. Definitely enabling. Daichi can’t help but give him a small smirk.  
Hinata is full out grinning at this point, patting Daichi emphatically on the back. “Daichi did great, didn’t he?!”  
  
Ukai makes his way over to them, sitting (more sprawling) over the couch in front of them. Kiyoko makes some space for him but otherwise, doesn’t seem bothered by the other’s mannerisms. He lifts a hand, gesturing to them, chuckling, before finally resting his hand on his eyes. “Now… what happened after you threw the spear?” He is looking thoughtful, crossing his eyes, trying to remember what he had been told.  
  
“It sprung back at me—“  
  
“Mm, the weapons have a strong magnetic force in them during your evaluation.” Ukai added. “I think it impresses them if your strength is able to compensate for that constant backward pull.”  
  
“I blocked it with a broadsword after finally getting their attention. They looked surprised. I bowed, then left the room.” Daichi finishes, the amusement painfully strong in his voice.  
  
Ukai sits up fully at this, uncharacteristically excited. “—Genius!”  
The blond mentor is laughing, conjuring up the image of wide-eyed game makers shocked and still in surprise.  
  
Apparently, it amused him greatly._

_Takeda’s glower looks more like a pout. It’s hardly intimidating at all—though he now has his fists clenched at his side, with his shoulders hunched forward pathetically. “But the head game maker might—“  
  
“Might what?” Ukai voices, suddenly stern, finally turning his head to face him. “Punish Daichi? Punish them both?”  
  
Hinata cowers, leaning near Daichi. Daichi narrows his eyes, then looks down. If they _ did _punish someone, he hoped it’d be him and not Hinata.  
_

_“ _They already will be punished, just going into that arena."_  Ukai finishes, unbuttoning his vest and reaching into his pocket to light a cigarette. “Just relax.” He encourages—almost gently, Daichi notices. It seems to make Takeda relax, but his pout remains. “We’ll be okay. The situation might be better than you think. And if something happens with the sponsors, we’ll fix it. We’ll make them see why these two are worth betting on.” Ukai has a small grin on his mouth, and he pats the seat next to him, encouraging the escort to just sit down. Daichi notes the light playful element subtly added in Ukai’s movements.  
  
“Have a drink?”  
  
Ukai asks that without sarcasm, without provocation. Only genuine.  
  
At this, Takeda finally relaxes, both sighing and adjusting his glasses before taking a seat, running his hands through his hair and gently massaging his own temples.  
  
He actually _did _allow Ukai to pour him a shot.  
And he downed it immediately.  
Hinata wondered how often these two went to the bar.  
  
__“Great job, you two.” Ukai states, turning back to Hinata and Daichi. “Great job.”_

* * *

  
As luck would have it, Daichi had actually gotten an _eleven_. Ukai remarked that they ‘ _must’ve remembered him’_ and judging from Takeda’s praising him and Hinata of a job well done, Daichi figured that all was forgotten.

He couldn’t help but feel immensely proud of Hinata as well, who had gotten a score of ten. Hinata must’ve done exceedingly well in the obstacle course laid out for him, because he had one the highest scores, including over several of the other tributes. Together, Karasuno had a score of twenty-one out of the possible twenty-four. Takeda was practically cooing over them at that point, especially since District Karasuno had the highest combined scores above all other districts. Kiyoko had congratulated them as well in her own quiet, almost inaudible way. Both Daichi and Hinata could feel the sincerity out of it. After a week or so of spending time with their stylist, they had decided that they rather liked her. She wasn’t like the other people in the Capitol. It was almost like she understood the ramifications of their being picked and how disgusting games like this were.

Again, Daichi couldn’t be too sure.  
  
“Those scores already give you a good advantage over your competitors because more sponsors will be looking at you to impress. If they _are_ impressed, then you’re more likely going to get some support from them. Tributes may want to also team up with you, if they think you’re a powerful ally. There’s also a downside to it. It isn’t uncommon for other teams to work together to get rid of tributes with high scores.” Hinata grimaces, as if suddenly tasting something bitter. His face turns into an unhealthy shade of grey, with his lips pressed together apprehensively. “You’ll be interviewed together since you’re a team. This is another chance to gather sponsors, fans…” Ukai puts his hand up to his chin, narrowing his eyes in a contemplative, almost exhaustive way. “…Just remember what I told you before your individual assessments. Make an impression. _Make them_ love you. You already know this, but this will be airing everywhere.”  
  
There is a growing silence after his explanation, only the sounds of silverware clinks and the pouring of drinks from the avoxes.  
  
“It’ll be showing in the districts too, right?” Hinata rambles nervously, gulping and taking a sip out of his milk. The silence didn’t bother him as much as his own mind did, thinking about thousands of people with their eyes and attention focused only on him.  
  
“Of course.” Ukai is reaching into his pocket, looking for his cigarettes. “Every place that has a television will be airing it.”  
  
There wasn’t a choice to ‘change the channel’ in the districts. It would be showing on any televisions located in the districts, as well as on the giant screen that hovered over the reaping area. It was broadcasted _everywhere_. These Games were an ongoing symbol of their failed revolution, their betrayal, and ultimately, their punishment—the punishment that _they_ had evidently put on themselves. There was no way the Capitol would allow them to simply ‘flip to another channel’ and ignore it.  
  
Hinata nods hesitantly, before drinking more of his milk, unaware of the growing white milk moustache forming above his top lip. He is fidgeting in his seat, his fingers restless even while holding the glass. His fingers are tapping against the edges, his eyes staring forward with his mind withdrawn to another place.  
  
Daichi assumes the prospect of being in front of millions of people, trying to get them to love and sponsor you, is getting to him. Either that, or Hinata is panicking about certain people seeing him on television.  
  
Maybe Kageyama would be watching.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_‘…And maybe Koushi, too.’_ His mind echoed.  
  
Somehow, Daichi knew that even though he and Sugawara never took the time to watch the Games, that Sugawara would be there, watching intently and supportively. There is a sense of relief that washes over Daichi, the opposite feeling from what Hinata appears to be experiencing.  
  
Daichi is relieved because Sugawara would be watching back _at home_ , in the districts.  
Sugawara would be _watching, because Su_ gawara isn’t _here_.  
He _isn’t_ going to be fighting for his life in a few days.  
His life wasn’t going to be left in the open, or going to _end_ indefinitely within the next few weeks.  
  
That was enough to comfort Daichi, if only just for this moment.

Daichi lifts his head, again shaking it free from any remaining thoughts of home. Make the Capitol love you, eh?  
  
He smirks. He’d have to see about that. He's been here for weeks, he feels like he could play their stupid game. _  
  
_ “Alright,” Takeda clears this throat, adjusting his glasses. “Let’s have some dessert!” He reaches his hand up, beckoning for the avoxes to approach. “I think we could use a good sorbet here!”

* * *

  
They are finished with their dinner, now making their way into the spacious living room. Hinata and Daichi had early on decided that they liked the living room, because it felt more open with the panoramic floor-to-ceiling windows surrounding them. Their bedrooms were empty, spacious and cold, making them feel confining and oppressive despite the palatial size. Sitting comfortably in this living room with Hinata was infinitely better than being in a bedroom that felt more like a prison than a place of relaxation. Both tributes rarely went straight to their rooms. They often sat here instead, bonding after each passing day.  
  
Daichi strides over to the small, orange haired boy and takes a seat next to him, plush seat comfortably adjusting to his weight. “Full?”

Hinata nods vigorously, while a grimacing, glum expression took over his entire person, clutching his stomach. “…I think… I ate too much.”  
  
Daichi laughs softly, then reaches out to fondly ruffle his hair. “Are you ready for the interviews tomorrow?”

Hinata sways excitedly, looking determined. His eyes shine with resolve as he leans forward, temporarily forgetting his bodily discomfort, clenching his fists and grinning. “I think we can do it! Kiyoko says that she’ll even have something for us— to wow the crowd.”  
  
_That’s right,_ Daichi mused.  
They better make the most out of what Kiyoko had in store for them.  
  
Sighing, Daichi leans back into the chair, watching as the fireplace crackles and glows, the flames inside alternating colors with each flicker. Everything in the Capitol seemed to be engineered to be a certain way, and it annoyed Daichi (Hinata more, probably) that nothing could be left alone; left in its natural state. Everything was modified into perfection. Everything lost its innate qualities because nothing _had_ innate quality in the Capitol. Perfection _wasn’t_ natural.  
  
“…It’s stupid, isn’t it?” Hinata moves closer to Daichi, curling his knees up to his chest, hugging an overly ornate, ostentatious pillow. His face is suddenly contemplative, lips partially open, with despondent eyes gazing straight into the blinking fire while bright, artificial flames reflected back into them.  
  
Daichi turns his head in question, unsure of what Hinata is alluding to. Hinata sighs, tightening his hold on the pillow, staring straight at the fireplace. “How stupidly unnatural all this is. I miss home.” His face briefly buries itself within his arms holding the pillow. He’s tired, tired of all _this._  
  
Daichi opens his mouth, uncertain of how to reply. Hinata doesn’t seem to expect an answer, because he begins to speak again, his small, quiet voice taking over the living room. “Even that stupid remote control in our bedroom—have you seen it?”  
  
“The one that controls the windows?” Daichi remembers their first night at the Capitol, coming across the many gadgets in their room. They had several remotes—one to a television, one that controlled the warmth of the bed, one to control the lights as well as the one that controlled the floor-to-ceiling windows on both left and right sides of the room.  
  
The remote that controlled the windows allowed for a change in the ‘background’. There was the simple background that just matched the walls of the room, another setting which was simply a clear glass to see the views of the Capitol, as well as other settings, images of what Daichi assumed were reminiscent of all the districts.  
  
Oceans that spread across to nothing, giant bodies of water so inhumanly blue that he never knew something like that could exist.  
  
Long valleys and plains covered with agriculture, with forests surrounding certain edges, with clouds that seemed to go on infinitely.  
  
City-like scapes and bright lights that were somehow perfectly integrated into the abundance of forest all around them.  
  
And the one that looked most like home.  
Simply a forest—dense and full— with caves in the distance.  
  
Daichi knew it wasn’t home because he didn’t recognize it. Honestly, he didn’t think there was an inch of that forest that he and Sugawara _hadn’t_ explored.  
  
The moment he saw the image of the forests, Daichi hurriedly moved to turn it off— in favor of the background that mirrored the dull, white walls of his room. He couldn’t take the reminder.  
  
For Hinata, it was different.  
In the brief moment that the forest was shown, Hinata craved more than ever to be home. He wanted to be back amongst the trees of his district, hearing the wind flow through the leaves, cold dirt under his palms, with Kageyama's strong presence next to him.

 If he wasn’t here, they’d probably be hunting or scavenging. Kageyama would berate him for a job _not_ well done and Hinata would pout, snapping back at him—ignoring the fluttering in his stomach and the pink in his cheeks.

…Was he missing Kageyama?  
  
“It looked so real, didn’t it? But it’s fake. It’s not home.          …Do you think the other tributes feel the same way?”Hinata poses the question to distract himself—not so much to incite a reaction with Daichi. He wondered if Kenma missed climbing trees back at his own district. He said they could all climb, didn’t he? Hinata smiles, conjuring up an image of Kenma lying comfortably on a tree branch, eyes to the sky, with his hands on the back of his head—no, playing with his handheld.  
  
Kuroo would probably be searching for him, or beckoning him to come down.  
Or maybe, Kuroo would have joined him.  
Hinata didn’t know much about Kenma’s partner.  
Only knew that Kuroo and Kenma shared something incredibly personal, _incredibly_ close.  
  
“I’m not sure.” Daichi pulls his legs onto the couch, in a crisscross position while deep in thought. He didn’t know much about the other tributes. Truthfully, he had spent most of his time avoiding other tributes and trying to hone his own skills. But tomorrow would be the interview day and they’d be able to see the tributes and how they felt about the Games—or at least see how they _pretended_ to feel. He was sure many would pull anything to grab the Capitol’s interest.  
  
“We’ll see tomorrow, alright?”  
  
Hinata nods, shutting his eyes, both tired from the train of thought and the over-abundance of food. He begins to sway, and before Daichi knows it, Hinata is letting out a soft, almost inaudible snore.  
  
Smiling, Daichi shuts his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest, enjoying the warmth of the sofa (and his partner's small snores).Tomorrow would be a long day and he figured he might as well savor all the time he has left.  
  
He is lulled to sleep, right there next to Hinata, warm in the ambience of the manufactured flames, with images of a silver haired someone in his mind.

 

* * *

 _.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_ It had taken about three hours for Kiyoko to ‘prepare’ them for the interviews, dressing them in suits that appeared jet black—repeating her patterns at the tribute parade by creating an orange-yellow shimmering sheen to it. Kiyoko seemed very interested in emphasizing the ‘fire’ behind their image, slicking both Hinata and Daichi’s hair back—again to achieve that cool windswept effect.  
  
They looked incredibly classy, Daichi thought. Not too shabby, not too shabby at all. Takeda had even circled them, complimenting and praising Kiyoko for her impeccable tastes. Kiyoko’s assistants then surrounded Daichi and Hinata to ‘apply makeup’; powdering and puffing his and Hinata’s faces, making them sneeze and grimace at every application.  
  
It wasn’t long until Hinata giggled whenever the brushes touched his face and neck. The smaller boy had learned to relax during makeup applications and dress up.

The end result, of course, was flawless. They looked like they had nothing on and yet they were completely free of any ‘imperfections’. Of course the Capitol wouldn’t want any signs of anything less than ‘perfect’.

When they departed, they entered a large theatre like building, heading towards any area where they could simply rest and wait for their turns. There are suspended televisions in every corner to watch the scenes unfold at virtually any position inside the building.  
  
There is a flash of yellow hair in the distance, and before Daichi knows it, Hinata is bolting forward in a flash of impeccable speed. _  
  
_ “ _Kenmaaa_!” Hinata calls, his voice again taking on a sing-song, light-hearted impression. Daichi turns his head to follow the sound of Hinata’s voice and notices the orange-headed boy running hurriedly to take a seat next to one of their competitors— the pudding-headed boy from Nekoma— _Kozume, Kenma_.

Daichi decides to let them talk, taking a seat across from them, far enough to give them privacy, while crossing his arms and leaning his head against the wall to shut his eyes to rest. It probably wasn’t a good idea to fraternize with the ‘enemy’, but Ukai had said something about making some allies.  
  
Being an uncommonly loyal person, Daichi didn’t particularly like the idea of making allies only to be forced to dispose of them in the end when it was convenient—so he decided instead to be positive. Maybe Hinata and he could separate from the allies, so they wouldn’t have to be the first to attack. Allies could be vying for the opposite though, could be pretending to befriend them just to stab them in the back while they were sleeping or rendered useless. There were just so many things that could go wrong. Daichi couldn’t rid his head of them.

But the idea that the little pudding-headed boy would do that, would _betray_ Hinata _,_ didn’t feel right— and Daichi’s gut response to Hinata and Kenma’s friendship was a genuine one. The two were most likely drawn to each other, probably could understand each other in similar ways that Asahi and Nishinoya had to him and Sugawara over the years.  
  
It was unfortunate that after these interviews, this friendship between Hinata and Kenma would inevitably have to end before it barely even began. All because of a sick game the Capitol had to play on the people of the districts to exert their authority and supremacy over all.  
  
He found himself thinking, almost wishing—that if he and Hinata didn’t make it in these Games, that the pudding-headed boy would.  
  
“So… _you’re_ Sawamura Daichi?”  
  
Daichi jumps at the deep voice, startled and dismayed at himself for not feeling a presence close-by. He was suddenly on-guard—standing so he was facing the other tribute, eyes narrowed to what _he hoped_ was a threatening glare.  
  
“Tch.” The tribute in front of him, _Kuroo Tetsurou_ , doesn’t seem to be put-off or even bothered by Daichi’s sudden movements and ‘menacing’ stances. Instead, he seems amused, standing there with one hand lazily on his hip. The Nekoma tributes were dressed in a fine black suit with a red collared shirt. Kuroo had unbuttoned his down, showing a sliver of skin in a way in which Daichi knew it _wasn’t_ intended by their stylist, but that the tribute had regardlessly done himself. In truth, Daichi would have done the same, because he felt like the buttons were suffocating him, tightening around his neck uncomfortably. But he couldn’t— because he knew that Takeda and Kiyoko would immediately rectify the act, rushing to right his actions. Nevertheless, despite Nekoma’s mundane, less fancy interview outfits, they were still more than appropriate for the occasion. That, and they seemed to emanate a certain…natural allure to them.  
  
Slowly, Kuroo cranes his head towards the direction of Hinata and Kenma, his unruly hair still struggling to break free against the gel attempting to hold it down— as if explaining his reason for being there, _too close_ in proximity to Daichi. “My partner.”  
  
From the tone in his deep, smooth voice, it was evident that Kuroo _already_ knew that Daichi was well aware of that fact. And even if Daichi _didn’t_ know that, even if Kenma _was_ Kuroo’s partner ( _inside or outside of the Games_ ), that _didn’t_ mean Kuroo had to come up so close to him.  
  
The fact that Daichi hadn’t been able to sense it…  
Kuroo’s stealth…. Must be incredible.  
  
Daichi would have to watch out for that.

As if hearing Daichi’s thoughts, Kuroo smiles leisurely and languidly, leaning forward, almost as if bowing good-naturedly to Daichi. He reaches his hand out—his face uncannily morphed into something akin to being pure, radiant and gracious.  
  
Daichi feels his nose wrinkle at the action.  
It was _creepy_.  
It didn’t suit Kuroo _at all._  
  
“We’re looking forward to our interview today.” Kuroo has that same expression, eyes shut and mouth pulled back into a grin with a smooth voice that was again— _too_ friendly.  
  
Though obviously tense, Daichi finds himself mirroring that same pure, radiant, and gracious expression with eyes closed and his mouth pulling back into a sickeningly friendly smile. “We’re looking forward to it, as well.”  
  
He clasps hands with Kuroo, tightening the grip.  
Kuroo tightens it back.  
  
They clasp even harder, _so much so_ that the area between their fingers are turning white.  
  
The smiles never leave their faces—and they’d never guess in over a thousand years that they were both thinking the exact same thing.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

 ‘ _This guy… is the cunning type.’_  

* * *

  
Across the two, the emotions being emitted throughout are vastly different. Kenma raises his brows at the sound of the energetic voice yelling out his name, moving to provide space for the smaller, orange-haired tribute.

“…Ah, Shouyou,” Kenma smiles, holding onto his handheld. He curls up again, just as he always did during their training sessions, pulling his knees up to his chest, seeming instantly pleased. Kenma had his bare feet sitting on the bench, leaving his shoes on the ground.  
  
“Waaaauuuugh!” Hinata is clutching his stomach again (though he’d just made two trips to the bathrooms), before grimacing at the other boy. “Are you worried about the interviews?” Hinata inquires, lifting his feet up and down in an obvious ball of frantic energy.  
  
“…Not particularly,” The pudding-head boy leans back, wiggling his toes, half-shrugging. Kenma turns his head to regard his game again, but the screen is blank. He’s nervous. He doesn’t want to be on a stage where thousands upon thousands of people will watch him.  
  
“Eh?” Hinata is astounded, turning to eye the boy more fully, crossing his legs over the bench they are sitting on. He is swaying now, back and forth— but has enough balance not to flail and send himself flying onto the floor. “Are you that positive you’ll get sponsors and be… I don’t know, loved by the Capitol?”  
  
“…Not really.” Came his usual, unobtrusive voice.

“...Are you just really strong, then?”  
  
Kenma looks up at him, feline eyes widening slightly. “It’s not me that’s strong. It’s us, together.” Hinata thinks that’s the most confident he’s ever heard Kenma, but only because it’s the loudest Kenma’s ever stated anything. Kenma _isn’t_ shying away, he’s assured, assured in his and Kuroo’s capabilities: together.

“So that’s why you aren’t nervous?”  
  
Kenma turns away, assuming his curled position once more before answering him. He slowly wraps his arms around his legs, fingertips still around his handheld while resting his chin on the top of his knees. “Kuroo.”  
  
“Ooooooh, Kuroo has a plan?” Hinata tilts his head trying to make sense out of the boy’s words, sincerely interested in what the pudding-headed boy wanted to convey. “Haha,” Hinata laughs energetically, scratching the back of his head. “That’s really good! I…don’t really have a plan going in...” He pauses, quickly correcting himself and shaking his head. “I mean, I guess we sort of have a plan! We have a surprise for the end!”

“…We don’t have a plan,” Kenma concedes, his eyes focused. “He just…said he’d do all the talking if I wanted.”  
  
Hinata nods in understanding. After almost two weeks of training and spending on and off time with Kenma, he could tell easily that the other wasn’t much of a talker, didn’t like to be the center of attention and preferred to be more in the background. Kenma had mentioned something about how despite that, he still cared about what people thought of him. Hinata guessed that Kenma probably had put his faith fully into Kuroo— to represent them properly and garner as many sponsors as they could. The amount of trust he seemed to have in Kuroo amazed him.                    

But… He did say Kuroo was the ‘only one’, after all.  
Whatever _that_ meant.

Without realizing it, Hinata begins to wonder about Kenma's relationship with Kuroo, remembering all the times they'd sit intimately at the greenhouse station during training, and Hinata catching himself staring at them for too long. He wonders if Kenma knows just how much faith he has in his partner, or if Kuroo knows. When Kenma says that Kuroo is the ‘only one’, does he mean he was the only one to volunteer for him?  
  
He finds himself thinking again that Kuroo must mean a lot to Kenma, volunteering to be with him in the Games. He tries to remember how he felt when Kageyama's name was called during the reaping, how the taller boy froze on the spot, trying unbelievably hard not to show the horror that had so obviously saturated down to his very bones. Hinata remembers his own body being trapped within a trance-like shock that made it so he _couldn't_ do anything but watch as the peace keepers took Kageyama up to the stage.

In those short moments, too many thoughts had cluttered his mind all at once. Amongst the clattered, confused disorder in his mind, one thought that stood out over all else: “He _shouldn't_ be up there”.  
  
Being reaped was essentially a death sentence and Hinata wasn't ready to lose someone so close.  
And because of that, his hand shot up into the air.

Other than the fact that the chances of Kuroo and Kenma surviving as a pair are slim, their courage to stick together in this kind of situation… was amazing.

Hinata grins to himself, thinking it must be cool to have someone to understand you like that. Kageyama and him were almost always at each other’s throats, and every time he tried to get the other to open up, he’d get left behind or be insulted with Kageyama’s usual appellation for him: ‘ _dumbass_ ’.

Still, it both excited and worried him that Kageyama would probably be watching. Maybe watching.  
  
He would, wouldn’t he?  
  
Hinata’s mind instantly invokes up an image—a very _clear_ image of a very _annoyed_ Kageyama.  
  
‘ _I hate the Capitol, dumbass. Why would I bother watching the stupid games? I’m not going to encourage or support_ it. _Me watching it won’t save the people that were forced to be there. It’s useless._ ’

Hinata pouted. Or maybe Kageyama _wouldn’t_ watch, because he hated anything to do with the Capitol.  
  
Yet despite those thoughts, it somehow wasn't difficult for him to picture Kageyama watching _anyway_.

He could feel his cheeks heat up and redden at the thought. _It was sort of funny_ , worrying about what Kageyama would think when the entire world would be watching. Cringing, Hinata feels his stomach gurgle repeatedly in dread. He was definitely more worried about what Kageyama might have thought than all those people around them. But he _couldn’t_ be nervous. They had to get sponsors. They _needed_ sponsors, to survive.

Slowly, his eyes lift up to his new found friend, soon to be his _new found enemy_ in the arena. He couldn’t accept that idea and Hinata knew somewhere in the back of his head that Kenma wouldn’t hurt him. And while he knows that things change in the arena, that people turn into blood-thirsty monsters, and that he should be rooting _only for him and Daichi_ —he still feels protective of the other. He feels a strange loyalty towards this boy he just met, this boy who he got along with _so_ well, both out of place, both forced to participate and more than likely die in the Hunger Games.

It didn’t sit right with him. So instead, he leans over, nudging the pudding-headed boy gently with his knee.  
  
“Kenma,” Hinata declares out of nowhere, unnaturally serious with a lowered voice. Kenma looks up at him, his feline amber eyes broadening to show his curiosity. He tilts his head inquisitively, as if attempting to say wordlessly: _What is it?  
  
_ “Good luck out there, okay?” Hinata pauses, then purses his lips in determination. “We _won’t_ stand down. Daichi and I will get as many sponsors as we can—but I… I want you to get sponsors too. Don’t be nervous, okay?” It sounds more of a command than it does a request because of the energy in Hinata’s voice, but Kenma understands. Immediately, Hinata makes a thumbs up gesture, grinning at his companion.  
  
“I’ll be watching every minute from back here, so you better do your best when the time comes!”  
  
Kenma smiles softly, eyes unchanging while rubbing his feet together. The districts were interviewed in order, so he and Kuroo would be going before Hinata and Daichi. He nods again, almost excited to sit and do the same, to watch Hinata from a safe place—where people aren’t surrounding them and judging them—to secretly root for him too.  
  
Wiggling his toes, he exhales, attempting to release any tense, pent-up energy.  
  
“… Good luck to you too, Shouyou.”

* * *

  
Most of the districts' interviews flew by. The audience was easy to reel around like a flopping fish taking whatever bait was floating in front of their faces. Daichi was thrilled with the aspect of being last so he could properly use the time to think about what to say. He and Hinata watched the television closely, trying to learn as much as they could about each tribute. The three most wealthy districts, 1, 2 and 4, were obviously a fan favorite, but due to the few oddities this year (volunteers), the people in the crowd looked eager for a little more than the usual.

* * *

 _  
District 2, Jouzenji:  
  
_ The lights are flashing, showcasing the second district, _Jouzenji_. The announcer, Saeko, as she introduced herself earlier, is laughing, egging the crowd on and increasing the enthusiasm building amongst them. She is in a ridiculous _‘Capitol Couture’_ outfit, but is mostly clad in leather instead of silks and laces. She had no headpiece donning her head like nearly all the other females in the area, making her look somewhat rebellious and sharp even among the citizens of the Capitol.  
  
More importantly, it was evident that the Capitol _adored_ District Jouzenji.  
  
“Now just for introductions, can you please state your names?” The Capitol seemed to already know their names, but the two tributes smiled anyway, basking in the light of all the attention.

“Yuuji, Terushima.”  
  
“Kazuma, Bobata."  
  
“So as a Career District,” Saeko begins, gesturing at them, “can we expect the same sort of skill and ferocity as we’ve seen every year?”  
  
“Of course.” The man reaches a hand to his slicked back blond hair, shaved at the sides— in a show of mock humbleness, before smiling toothily, openly flirting with her. “We’ve been trained at the Academy, as you know,” he states, now feeling the tips of his blond hair on the pads of his thumbs. “We’re ready and excited for action.”  
  
“I love seeing tributes this excited for the Hunger Games! Some can just be so nervous—“ Saeko opines, before looking at the crowd so that they could both ‘ _boo_ ’ in unison. She winks at the crowd, pleased with their responses. Clucking her tongue, she turns back to the two tributes. “What do you think about that?”  
  
“Huh.” Terushima leans forward, resting his chin attractively on his palm, feigning a pondering pose. Then he lifts his head, that same carnal smile still on his face. “Well I suppose they _would_ be nervous, because they’re not prepared,” he smirks, shrugging. “But _we_ are.” He leans back, adding airily, “But hopefully, teams don’t go out too fast. Matches are a totally fun past time you know.”  
  
The audience giggles at this, seemingly drawn into his confidence and natural appeal. They whisper amongst each other while giving the two tributes appreciative nods.

His partner smirks at him, nodding. “It really is. Unfortunate that the other tributes can’t prepare themselves well enough for a challenge, though.”  
  
Saeko laughs along with them, either completely unaware of Terushima’s flirty smile or just so uninterested that she’s dismissing it. “That’s _exactly_ it! What are your plans for the arena?” Saeko pauses for a moment, before gesturing for them to not to respond to that question. “No, no, don’t answer that. Let’s keep the crowd and the tributes waiting in rapture, shall we?”  
  
The citizens moan in complaint, but laugh ‘good-naturedly’. Some are resting their chins on their hands, looking expectantly at the tributes in a mix of awe and interest.  
  
Terushima leans his head back in unrestrained laughter—revealing a silver piercing in the middle of his tongue. “Of course! Do you want us to talk about our skills instead? We’ll just reveal one, so you and the _citizens_ ,” he says fondly, before turning and grinning at the audience (who laugh and giggle back at his affection), “can guess about the rest.”  
  
Saeko hums for an instant, then nods, deciding to accept this idea. “Sounds great! Tell us.” She is leaning back in her chair inquisitively, taking a few sips out of her drink.  
  
“We specialize in a lot of things,” Terushima replies thoughtfully, his tongue sticking out from his lips. “But _I_ like knives. There’s a lot of things you can do with them, long distance attacks, face to face combat…” He sighs, sitting up straight, before winking handsomely. “I like that type of… _flexibility._ ”  
  
“Ah, yes! You would get a great deal of uses out of knives, both close combat and distant—especially with the skills you have.” Saeko expresses this interestedly while Terushima smirks. He had no doubts in his skills and he really had no reason to, having basically been brought up to fight specifically for these Games. She takes this as a moment to question the other man in the team. “And you?”  
  
Bobata tilts his head, smiling as well. “I also like direct attacks, but I enjoy using arrows.”

“Arrows! There isn’t much flexibility with that at all, is there?”  
  
Bobata's mouth spreads even wider, obviously knowing something _she_ didn’t.  
  
“Well, that’s for me to know and for you to find out, right?” It’s a cheeky answer, but it seems to thrill both Saeko and the crowd, _‘oooooh’_ -ing in excitement.  
  
Saeko pouts dramatically, then laughs animatedly. The citizens are drawn and attracted to their ‘cool’ atmosphere, sighing wistfully at the two mysterious men sitting in front of them.

“But don’t worry,” Terushima is speaking again, hand resting his hair, handsomely weaving his fingers through once again. “We _definitely_ won’t disappoint!”

There was a screen backstage that broadcasted everything to the remaining tributes. Daichi and Hinata watched as the audience cheered for the two tributes from Jouzenji. As they stood up to bow and wave graciously at the audience, Daichi and Hinata's eyes were glued to the screen as the cameras zoomed in the capture Terushima and Bobata's identical, but deadly smirks.  
  
_Both_ Hinata and Daichi made a mental note to actively avoid those two.

* * *

The Interviews for Districts One and Four, Shiratorizawa and Aoba Johsai, swept past almost without a second thought. Usually both districts presented fabulous tributes that excelled in both personality and in skill, but ever since their most recent victors, everyone else who arrived thereafter fell extremely short. Aoba Johsai's victor was the youngest in history to ever win the Games: _Oikawa Tooru_. His innate attractive qualities and his remarkable charisma had not yet faded in the Capitol— even years after his victory. He was, as many had put it, the “darling” of the Capitol—a great favorite of the citizens.

Shiratorizawa's victor rose to fame in a different way—having easily won his games through sheer power. His Games had been the shortest in history, barely even marking five days in time. This caused many to become unsure of his victory, left wondering if he succeeded legitimately or if it occurred through pure luck. It was as if he literally flew above his enemies and picked off them one by one—easily, with one weapon— until he was the only one standing. His name was _Ushijima Wakatoshi._

* * *

 _  
District 5, Fukurodani:  
  
_ By the time Fukurodani comes in, the crowd is restless, ready for something exciting and unheard of to occur. The tributes and Saeko have been locked in conversation for a while and it seemed that both Bokuto and Akaashi felt comfortable with the situation they were in.  
  
Either that _or_ they were remarkable actors.

“So is it true that the residents of Fukurodani have heightened senses in the darkness?” Saeko remarks interestedly, eyeing the two men in front of her. She reaches over the table to grab a few grapes from a plate, grinning happily at them (and offering for them to take a bite), gesturing her hand over to encourage them to speak.  
  
“We are,” one of the men responds. He has an expressionless face on, arms crossed tight against his chest. Though he is casual, he is polite and isn’t offensive to the announcer in any way. “We can see better, clearer images than the just the usual shadows that others that aren’t from our district would probably experience during the night.”  
  
The man next to him, one with silver hair and blackened streaks—Bokuto—leans forward to Saeko, smiling handsomely yet faintly goofily at the same time. “We’re more equipped to handle the night.” Bokuto replies excitedly. “We use our heightened senses to hunt nocturnally.”  
  
Saeko is pleased by this and makes guttural sounds of excitement. “So you’re nocturnal—do you sleep during the day?”  
  
“We’re awake just as much as everyone else, I guess,” the silver haired one responds, “but we take more naps to conserve energy if we need to. Even if we don’t though—” He begins, looking up at her and smiling charmingly for emphasis.  
  
His thick brows frame his amber-yellow eyes perfectly, making them seem more radiant with emotion.  
  
“Even if when we don’t nap during the day—“ Akaashi answers, assuming that Bokuto intended for him to finish, “We’re still incredibly sufficient during the night.”  
  
Bokuto grins.  
  
“ _Especially_ compared to the average person! We often sleep after hunting. It isn’t that our schedules aren’t too different from everyone else’s—we’re just more flexible, you know?” There isn’t anything haughty or egotistical about the way Bokuto says it, and he seems unaware of how his comment could have insulted other people from other districts. He smiles, putting his hand up to the back of his soft, groomed hair donning that same goofy, yet naturally attractive expression on his face.  
  
“Woooah!” Saeko is waving her hands unreservedly, making wild gesticulations in the air. “Wait—wait—“ She grins slowly, almost predatory-like, while resting her finger on her chin in a contemplative manner. “This would put you at an incredible advantage over all the other tributes then! When they fall asleep…”  
  
“We’ll have the upper hand.” Akaashi responds, nodding.  
  
Bokuto straightens up in his seat happily, his grin more endearing than arrogant,resting his hands on his hips.  
  
Saeko jumps at the opportunity.  
  
“Care to show us an example?” Saeko questions, clucking her tongue and leaning back into her chair. Her chair is leaning so far back that Akaashi is surprised she hasn’t yet broken the joints to her chair and fallen flat on her back.  
  
“An example?” Bokuto responds, tilting his head curiously, but noticeably excited for a challenge.  
  
“Tell you _what_.” Saeko is twirling her index finger in her short, blonde hair, eyeing the lights in the auditorium. “I’ll ask for someone back stage to bring me an elaborate picture—hiding it from both your lines of sight, of course.” She purses her lips as her eyes narrow impishly. “I’ll wave my finger, motion for them to turn off every damned light in this room...” Her smile is slow, but especially taunting.  
  
“You want us to tell you exactly what’s on that picture?” Bokuto finishes, straightening up in his seat.  
  
“Precisely! So what,” she asks, smiling intimidatingly and digging her heel into the coffee table in front of them, all the while balancing on the hind legs of the chair. “Care to show us your skills? Or are you just all talk?”  
  
Bokuto seems enlivened by this and laughs excitedly, clapping his hands on his muscular thighs. He isn’t put off by her words in the least, just waving his hand in thrilled agreement. Akaashi is staring forward, his face remaining expressionless, even through Bokuto's hearty pats on his back and excited comments of " _isn't this exciting, Akaashi?!_ "  
  
“Go ahead then.”  
  
A few seconds later, a stagehand appears from behind, handing Saeko a picture on a thick cardboard to ensure that the two tributes could not see through it. Saeko raises an eye at the picture, examining it thoroughly.  
  
Bokuto leans back into his chair comfortably, speaking with the tribute next to him, whispering things unheard to the audience. When Saeko is satisfied with her examination of the picture, she lifts her right hand, making a pointing motion with her index finger.  
  
“Very well. Turn off the lights.”  
  
The audience gasps in astonishment at the sudden darkness inside the room. They literally could not see their own hands in front of their faces. The darkness is uncomfortable, almost smothering, but Bokuto and Akaashi feel like they’re back at home. There are numerous murmurs inside the room, all filled with anticipation and eager with amusement for the upcoming event.  
  
Saeko turns the picture in her hands to face the two tributes. “So? Tell me what it is.”  
  
Bokuto laughs good-naturedly. “An owl! Akaashi,” He says, somewhat nostalgically and a bit sadly, thinking about the prospect of an early death. “…Doesn’t it remind you of home?”  
  
Akaashi nods, though no one but Bokuto can see it. “A great horned owl.” He responds. Unwittingly, he’s changed Bokuto’s mood from a downhearted one to a cheerful one.  
  
“ _Haha_ , my favorite!” Bokuto’s mood change occurs near instantaneously. “It’s brown, white and grey,” Bokuto adds, “perched on top of an evergreen tree. Thirty cones…” Saeko is surprised by how quickly Bokuto has counted; thinking his perception ability must be extremely advanced. She barely even had the picture up for a few seconds and he is responding as if it’s been in front of his face for at least a full minute. “Quarter moon. There looks to be a hole in the middle of the tree,” he adds, raising a thick brow. “Also some sleeping cats at the base of the tree trunk. Three of them, one adult and two kittens.”  
  
“White, black and a tortie.” Akaashi adds in monotone, shifting in his seat.  
  
Bokuto chuckles. “Don’t see many cats where we’re from.”  
  
Saeko makes another motion with her hands, and suddenly the entire room is lit again.  
  
“That…” She answers, with eyes widened immeasurably large, “was… _AWESOME_!” Saeko makes another motion with her hand to tell the stagehands to project the picture she is holding onto the wall behind them for the audience to see. The lights come on, and the citizens are gasping in surprise, nodding in approval and wild with applause and adoration for Bokuto and Akaashi.  
  
“They described every detail about it!” Saeko is rambling, too excited to contain her words. “Aren’t they just _amazing,_ everyone?!”                                                                                                                             

Their voices can barely be heard over the sound of the audience, all cheering delightedly and hysterically for the two tributes. Bokuto's energized smile lights up the crowd, but he seems to tune them out as he briefly glances over at Akaashi, as if to tell him wordlessly, _"…We’re good, Akaashi.”_  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_“We'll be all right."_

* * *

  
_District 11, Nekoma_ :  
  
The announcer is tapping her heel, leaning close to the tributes. She takes a moment to push back her short blonde hair, before curling her lips up into an almost _feral_ smile. She stares at the two in front of her, the taller, dark haired male along with the smaller, more unassuming one, who is currently fidgeting and playing with some game in his seat. The smaller, pudding-headed one has his legs curled up to his chest, his chin on his knees, staring, almost boredly into his game. It’s as if he doesn’t even realize they’re taking part in an important interview to garner sponsors—or maybe he’s succumbed to letting the other speak for him.  
  
What they _don’t_ know is that he _does_ plan on having Kuroo speak for him and that Kenma is sizing them all up, just _appearing_ to be distracted so no one would take notice of him.  
  
That’s how Kenma worked.  
In the shadows, because he didn’t particularly stand out and no one really bothered to approach him.  
  
“So… which of you is Kuroo Tetsurou?”  
  
Kuroo nods in the affirmative, gesturing at himself. A second later, he nods his head towards his partner. “...and he goes by Kenma.”  
  
“We’ll start with the basics, eh? Our Capitol loves to get to know our tributes!”  
  
Kuroo smirks at this, craning his head towards the audience, then responds in a light, but subtle mocking tone. “I’m _sure_ they do.” He has his legs crossed, swaying the tip of his foot lightly, _slowly_ , not unlike the way the tip of a cat’s tail does when it’s content or entertained. He leans back against his chair, sizing up the host with a strong gaze.  
  
Kenma regards Kuroo from the corner of his eyes, visibly catching Kuroo’s cynicism. It lasts barely half a second, before Kenma returns all of his attention back to his video game, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible. As the other tributes watch, they all question again how the Capitol is allowing Kenma to continue playing on his handheld. Nobody was doing anything and they did nothing during training either. Even the audience didn't seem to mind.  
  
Was Kenma _that_ invisible?  
Or was he deemed so little of a threat that they didn’t even bother?  
  
Saeko leans back, grabbing a glass of water and putting it up to her lips. “Tell me; is there a special lady back at home?”

 _‘What a randomly placed question. Odd, focusing on that of all things, during this death parade.’_ But Kuroo smirks at his thought, continuing to think to himself. _Odd_ , but it was absolutely _perfect.  
  
_ He would set his plan here.  
  
Kuroo smiles lazily, almost seductively, with that catlike quality he and Kenma always seemed to inherently possess, leaning back into his chair, arms resting on the handles. “Nope.”  
  
When the crowd retorts with a frenzy of expressions in disappointment, Saeko grins, as if rising to the challenge. “Oh come on! You can’t expect me to believe that!” She rolls her shoulders back, clucking her tongue, before placing her drink back on the coffee table lying between them. “Tall, dark hair, you seem very fit! Now don’t be shy, we love romantic stories here! Who’s the lucky girl?”  
  
Kuroo’s smile gets even wider; his eyes narrowing into a predatory, feline stare. Suddenly, his entire foot begins to sway briskly, like a cat swaying its _entire_ tail, similar to when it is either irritated or overexcited.  
  
_Ready to pounce._  
  
Kuroo must have been all of those things.  
  
His actions only seem to energize the announcer, because she returns it with a similar smile of her own before Kuroo finally decides to answer, having built up enough suspense. “Lucky _guy_ —would probably be more accurate, actually.”  
  
“Oh!” Saeko promptly conjures up a look of shock to turn and reflect off of the audience, before throwing her head back, laughing good-naturedly. She smacks her thigh excitedly, eyes gleaming with eagerness. “Well, you _damn well_ should’ve said something earlier!”  
  
The Capitol gasps in surprise, awe and delight. Their voices are gradually getting louder, until it becomes one giant wave of indiscernible sounds, making Kenma curl up in palpable discomfort. Kenma ventures a look at Kuroo, one that probably no one _other_ than Kuroo could understand—before again returning his attention to his game. Kuroo shifts slightly, as if responding to Kenma, moving forward to conceal him from the gazes of the audience. No one notices this subtle act but Kenma, who instantly relaxes, loosening his tense body and feeling much more relieved. Kuroo moving forward… concealing him as much as he could from the gazes of the crowd… it did more for him than he could ever say with words.  
  
Kenma really _hated_ being the center of attention.  
  
“Tell me about him then.” Saeko doesn’t notice this exchange at all, instead is incensed with the idea of ‘juicy gossip’ from the districts. She would use anything she could to incite a response out of the crowd—and she had a feeling that these two would do _exactly_ that.  
  
At this, Kuroo shrugs leisurely. “Nothing to tell, really. He’s always been pretty quiet.”  
  
“About your relationship?”  
  
“Nah,” Kuroo shakes his head, rolling his shoulders back idly, “about pretty much everything.”  
  
Saeko ‘hms’ for a moment, before raising a hand up to gesture casually at the man. “But he’ll probably pay more attention to you if you win the Hunger Games, right? Be a little more affectionate? You’ll be able to spend more time with him after! Win him over with your stunning capabilities and newfound wealth…?”  
  
“Maybe, maybe not. It depends.”  
  
“Why?”  
  
Kuroo pauses— though if it was done because he was hesitant to answer or purely for suspenseful purposes is unclear.

 

.  
  
  
..  
  
  
…  
  
  
  
“Because he’s right here with me.”  
  
At that moment, the entire theatre explodes.  
  
The audience gasps in unison, shaking their heads in terror and pity, hands up to their lips in a show of concern. The energy and noise in the auditorium has soared and the citizens seem to be beside themselves—unsure of whether to react with pity or with glee that they had _just found_ the romance of the century.  
  
_How romantic_ , many of them cooed.  
_Starcrossed?_ Another asked. _I’m sponsoring them right this instant!_  
_That’s it! They’re my favorites now!  
  
_ Kenma flinches, before looking up at Kuroo in surprise, his handheld projecting a blank, ‘GAME OVER’ screen. Saeko notes that Kuroo is smiling lazily—affectionately at the smaller male, before Kenma blushes lightly, pouts, then restarts his game, acting as if nothing had happened. Kuroo’s grin only seems to widen at this, knocking the side of Kenma’s head gently in a head-butting fashion before looking back at Saeko, who is unsure if he’s joking or if he’s being serious. She’s unsure of the whole interview actually, which is truth and which isn’t—because Kuroo isn’t easily readable.  
  
Actually, he isn’t readable at _all_.  
  
It was almost as if these two tributes, ones that before the romance didn’t stand out at all, nothing but commonplace, nothing-out-of-the-ordinary district inhabitants— were secretly the ones pulling the strings to the interview. For the first time in this entire interview session with all the tributes, she finds herself unsure and completely _thrown_ off her game.  
  
She tilts her head to her side, lips pursed in uncertainty, deciding to just ask Kuroo upfront. “…You’re serious?”  
  
“As much as I can be.”  
  
Another wailing cry from the audiences.

 _This is so romantic!  
What do you think their past is like? Do you think we’ll get to find out?  
We’ve got to help them make it through!  
Yeah, we can do it!  
  
_ There are citizens already patting their eyes with small cotton pads, sniffling and attempting to dab their tears away without disturbing their makeup. Others are getting their fingers tangled within their too-long fake eyelashes, pushing away bangs that were too long, poking into their dampened eyes.  
  
“Huh.” Saeko voices, before turning to Kenma. The only responses the pudding headed boy’s made back at her are the slight sounds of beeps coming from his handheld.  
  
“…Well, it’s too bad. That’s some bad luck.”  
  
“Sure is. But we’ve got to give the Capitol its due, eh? Couldn’t have you getting _bored_ without your _entertainment_ …” His voice is the same, rather jovial, in an almost sluggish, but mocking way. He is grinning, grinning in that attractive, feline way that makes the audience laugh—assuming it’s all good-natured, all in japing manner.  
  
Slowly, without warning, he reaches over, clasping Kenma’s left hand, lacing his longer fingers through the smaller one’s cold, nervous hands.  
  
He tightens his grip reassuringly, protectively—while smirking (hidden _sneer)_ at Saeko.  
  
Before Saeko could even react to the situation or to Kuroo’s words, he drawls:  
  
“Won’t be _too bad_ though, _when_ we win.”

* * *

  
Somewhere in the waiting room, Daichi smirks, commiserating with Kuroo’s obvious disgust with the Capitol… _and_ lamenting in his cunning ability to mesmerize the crowds and take full advantage of the situation.  
  
Daichi bites his lip.  
  
_‘…Damn, he was good.’_  
  
But…maybe this Kuroo-guy isn’t too bad after all. He was smart, using his love story to egg the audience on like that. Daichi wasn't sure if he would have been able to do that if Sugawara was here with him. Just thinking about it made him tense. ‘But then’, he thought, ‘Koushi would probably be able to navigate an interview really well.’

Hinata, on the other hand, was entranced by their actions.  
  
While Daichi was lost within his own thoughts, Hinata found himself staring intently at the television— eyes specifically fixed on Kuroo's fingers laced with Kenma's, as a fluttering, heavy feeling overcame him. They _really_ must have meant a lot to each other. Did it even _matter_ whether or not it was just an act to tease the Capitol?

* * *

 The interview had just ended—and the lights were changed to a pale blue to signify a break. Hinata was watching intently throughout the entire interview until it ended—where all traces of his anxiety and fearfulness came rapidly crashing through. Soon, it would be _their_ turn.

“ _Daichi_ ,” Hinata asks with difficulty, holding onto his stomach tightly. “How long is the intermission between districts again?”

Daichi turns to him. “Twenty minutes.”

It may have seemed like a long interval, but apparently the Capitol did it so that the citizens could sit and muse about which districts they liked the best. The Capitol figured that there would be more sponsors when more anticipation was built up between each district. After all, there was nothing more _enticing_ than having to wait.

“ _I—_ “ Hinata hunches over, face contorted into uncomfortable tightness with his stomach growling in response. Daichi grimaces in understanding, waving him away gently with his hand. “Go ahead. We’re supposed to meet with Kiyoko before our turn to be interviewed, but I’ll let her know you went to the bathroom when she gets here.”  
  
“Thank you!” Hinata runs forward hurriedly, racing off to the bathrooms. 

* * *

  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Hinata pauses in the middle of the hallway towards the bathrooms, paralyzed in his feet— when he sees Kiyoko surrounded by the two Jouzenji Career tributes. They are looking down at Kiyoko (simultaneously condescending and _uncomfortably_ appreciative), with her leaning against the wall, while the blond one— _Terushima_ — Hinata thinks, leans over her with his hand resting on the wall. The other is towards the side, but eyeing her as well, almost _leering_ at her. He also recognizes them as the guys that Kenma had stolen a knife from during training and more importantly, as the guys he made a strong mental note to completely _avoid._ Hinata’s eyes laze over to Kiyoko and he begins to panic, feeling his insides begin to fizz with uncertainty.  
  
_They’re hitting on her!_ Hinata mentally screamed, gritting his teeth anxiously, twiddling his fingers in a panic-stricken energy. _They're a lot bigger and scarier up close!_ He knows it would be best to avoid them, but he couldn't ignore what they were doing to their stylist.

“There are people waiting for me…” Kiyoko is quiet, though this time, too quiet, even for her. She shuffles away as far away as she can. “So if you would excuse me…” She looks uncomfortable, continuously pressing against the wall and looking down at her feet.

Terushima leans in closer nonetheless. “Sure,” he says nonchalantly, grinning at her face, “Just give us a way to contact you again.”  
  
Hinata shuffles in his feet, hesitant of what to do. He flails, shifting from left to right, before making the decision to run, darting right between them, yelling in trepidation. “HEY!”  
  
“W-woah!” Terushima backs up, but not by much. He looks down at Hinata, mostly perplexed, a little annoyed. Kiyoko's eyes are wide with surprise.  
  
“S…Sorry!” Hinata says, stuttering. He can feel beads of sweat forming around his head, because the tribute’s stare is exceptionally paralyzing. “I...I need her to tell me where the b-bathroom is so,” He turns, moving behind Kiyoko, gently pushing her away from them with his two quivering hands. He’s hoping they can exit the scene like this, without any kind of dispute. He didn’t want to make enemies before the Hunger Games actually started. “L-Let’s get going, Kiyoko!” He looks over to Terushima, trying to nod good-naturedly. “W…We’ll leave quietly.”  
  
“Hold on.” Terushima raises a brow, then smirks, leaning back to shrug his shoulders in a stretching motion. Swiftly, before Hinata even notices, Terushima reaches out his hand, grabbing firmly onto Hinata’s shoulder and in a second—throws him behind. “We’re still talking here.”

“Hinata!” Kiyoko calls quietly, worried if he sustained any injuries from the throw. She moves to check on him, but is blocked by Terushima’s body. She bites her lip, leaning back against the wall, averting her gaze. She is afraid, but she tries to stand her ground this time, clutching her materials in her arms. She did _not_ want her tribute getting injured.

Terushima is bending down now, winking at her. “So? What's the best way we can contact you?" He turns to his partner, pouting. "Why isn't our stylist this hot?"

Not in favor of the way they were treating her, Hinata pushes himself up, swiftly turning to face them. In a spout of excess apprehensive energy—he jumps— right over Terushima, landing between Terushima and Kiyoko, in the small distance separating them.

“ _’SCUSE ME!_ ” Hinata exclaims, still an over-excited ball of energy. “W-Well! Um…!” He’s fiddling, unsure of what to say. “Ki…Kiyoko is our precious stylist, so…”

Terushima blinks at this, seeming to have forgotten all about Kiyoko, his attention completely shifted and suddenly distracted by the height of Hinata’s jump and his bright orange hair. “Huh.” Interested, he leans down, as if to scrutinize Hinata. He sees the small black feather emblem on Hinata’s sleeve, before pulling away. “You were the ones that got an overall twenty-one in training scores.”  
  
“U-Um…” Hinata fidgets, his arms out in some awkward display to protect Kiyoko, still unsure of what to do or how to reply.

Terushima chuckles, before resting his hands on his hips. “Looks like we’re going to have some fun!”  
  
“H…Have some fun?” Hinata questions, annoyed that his voice came out more like a squeak than anything else.

Terushima is smiling toothily, turning away from Hinata to leave. Hinata peers at him curiously, moving away from Kiyoko so he is in front of and rushing to face the tribute again. He clenches his fists, looking up at him. “D…Did you guys really mean what you said in the interview?” He is uncertain as to why he continues to talk to this intimidating Career tribute, especially since he is so afraid of him.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          
The blond tribute eyes him with a dark gaze before smirking. He tilts his head. “Of course. I mean, our district’s only won it _so many times_ , after all.” He lifts his hand up to his head, stretching, noticeably bored with the current situation. “Well, see ya.” He supplements dismissively, before pulling Hinata out of his way again.

“When we end up facing off in the games,” He adds, turning his head to face Hinata once more, reaching out to pat Hinata’s head haughtily. “…Let’s get some fun out of it.”  
  
“Get…some fun out of it…?” Hinata is unsure of how to respond, absently reaching his hand to feel the back of his head where the larger career tribute had patted him—just like a child, like he was absolutely _nothing_ to be threatened by. 

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
They meet up with Daichi soon after that and Kiyoko again explains the ‘surprise’ instilled within their outfits, smiling up at both of them confidently.

“You don’t need any buttons this time.” She reiterates softly. “Just get up from your seats, activate it with your mind and it’ll react instantly.” She smiles lightly, then looks up at Daichi and Hinata. “Try to make it exciting. I have full faith in you…so good luck.” She turns her head to Hinata, her voice small, but assured. “Thank you.” She nods gratefully. Hinata was glad Kiyoko was safe.  
  
“Y-You’re welcome!”  
  
With that, she is off, to join Takeda (who is spiritedly talking with friends about how wonderful the last tributes’ interview was ‘ _oh, I wanted to cry for the poor Nekoma group!’_ ) and Ukai, who had just stepped in after a smoking break.

Hinata stares up at Daichi, who is looking questioningly at him for Kiyoko’s sudden display of gratitude. Still jittery and unsure of the events that occurred prior, Hinata steps up to him, deciding to inform him about everything that happened on his way back from the bathroom. No secrets were better— they’d be more efficient in the arena and now was as good a time as any to continue to build a bond and establish trust between them.  
  
After regaling the events of the situation to Daichi, he frowns, crossing his arms tightly over his chest in a show of immense displeasure. Hinata falters, wondering if he said something to anger him.  
  
“Don’t worry,” he tells Hinata confidently, smirking dangerously, in a way Hinata had never seen. “We’ll show them a good time, and we’ll see just how long their “ _fun_ ” lasts.”

* * *

_District 12, Karasuno:_

It feels like an _eternity_. They’d been standing near the side of the curtains for what feels like hours and Hinata feels as if he’s about to melt. One of Kiyoko’s assistants is patting them down, making sure they look _absolutely perfect_ for their entrance. Hinata wants to go to the bathroom, but he knows he can’t. Instead, he gently reaches his hand out to hold Daichi’s upper arm for some kind of support, hunching down. The smaller of the two begins to take deep breaths, trying to calm himself before their entrance.  
  
When they finally walk onto the stage,with big, bright lights welcoming them onstage, Hinata is both frightened and in awe at the sheer size and capacity of individuals cramped into the audience. There are people all around, at different levels, with seats going up nearly as high as the ceiling. There are even seats that hang out towards the edges of the stage, where people can literally stare down at him and judge.  
  
And that’s _without_ mentioning all the people watching them from the districts.

As they approach their seats, Saeko reaches her hand out for a handshake—with Daichi clasping it firmly and Hinata barely able to even tighten his grip, his hands cold and clammy. Saeko notices this and chuckles good naturedly before sitting back down. Hinata steps back towards the seats offered to them, reaching a hand back to blindly make sure that the seats were there and he wouldn’t fall and make an absolute fool of himself in front of the entire world.  
_  
_ “Hello, Hello!” Saeko begins, ushering Daichi and Hinata to sit down. “Last but not least, we're finally at District Number Twelve, Karasuno, and boy, we’ve got a very interesting pair here—probably with a great story to tell! I’m sure we’re all excited to hear it!”  
  
The citizens in the crowd murmur in excitement, whispering amongst each other. It all sounds muffled to Hinata.  
  
“I can’t keep my mind off your entrance at the tribute parade—blazing in fire, hands clasped in a show of pride, now _that’s_ what I like to see!”  
  
Daichi raises a brow, crosses his legs, smiles attractively (albeit cynically, not that anyone from the Capitol can tell) but says nothing. Hinata is visibly agitated, looking over at the crowd with the sounds beginning to deafen him as he moves his eyes around the auditorium tensely and dizzily. All the sounds are getting noisier, amplified as they continue to sit on their seats. The lights seem to blur and gather at the same time—making Hinata squint and fidget insecurely. He wishes he had something to calm himself with—to distract himself.  
  
Maybe he should’ve asked Kenma for his handheld.  
  
“And _two_ volunteers," Saeko continues, "—from one district—much less a district that’s never had volunteers before!” She is gesticulating towards the crowd, before grinning and motioning back at the two. There is already plenty of suspense revolving around the two tributes, and the crowd mirrors this suspense by staring, eyes wide, expectantly, at Hinata and Daichi. “How do you feel?” She asks, aiming the question at Hinata.  
  
Blinking, Hinata turns his head to her—away from the crowd, tilting his head. He couldn’t hear a thing—only a sharp ringing sound in his ears. Sounds and lights were being blurred together and he could feel his body begin to crumble. He states the single thing that his mind can pull together. “…Huh?”

The crowd laughs heartily, as does Saeko.  
  
_What a sweetheart!  
He must be so homesick!  
Look at just how adorable he is!_  
  
“You’re nervous, eh? I can’t blame you; I’d be the same if I was in your position!” She seems to take pity on Hinata, because she is turning her gaze away to question Daichi instead.  
  
Hinata gulps,trying his hardest to follow her movements.  
  
“So let’s start with you then,” she implores, gazing at Daichi (Saeko can tell which one is more likely to speak). “How are things here?”  
  
Daichi muses for a moment, before lifting his head and smirking ‘pleasantly’ at her. “ _Wonderful._ It’s definitely a far cry from what we have back at District twelve.”  
  
“District Twelve!” She laughs, obviously in a haughty, patronizing manner. “Now enlighten me with these changes—we haven’t seen Karasuno stand out at all for years at the Hunger Games, especially since all the tributes from the _“Flightless Crows”_ haven’t been too interesting from our experience.” She winks not-so-subtlety at the audience, as they laugh at the derogatory nickname. **~~  
~~**  
It makes Daichi’s left eye twitch but he doesn’t respond or bite back. His body language isn’t obvious—not to anyone that does not outright know him. But Hinata can see his fingers twitch, can see facial muscles contract and pull, lips fighting to keep the smile on. He is sure Daichi is getting angry and that it's taking up every ounce of his energy not to get up and yell.

“Oh?” Daichi replies coolly, lips forcing themselves up into an even wider smirk. “That’s unfortunate. We’re a bit different—though.”  
  
“Yeah?” Saeko questions, making herself more comfortable in her seat. She grins, nodding at Hinata and Daichi, obviously pleased with that answer. “How so? Ah—before telling us how you’re both different to the boring tributes we usually get from Karasuno, please, enlighten us! How does being here differ from back home?”  
  
“Hmm…” Daichi has his hand on his chin, in an attempt to feign deep thought. “…The standards are different.” Daichi replies, smiling sweetly at her.  
  
“The standards?”  
  
“Mm, for example, _cleanliness_.” Daichi continues before Saeko can remark. The venom dripping in his voice is only obvious to Hinata (and of course to those close to him).“Now obviously I’m not _clean_ enough for Capitol standards, “Daichi is smiling even more, smiling so brightly the sun might as well have been shining behind his face. “I was SO surprised when they prepared us for the tribute parade. Took probably at least four hose-downs! I wasn't aware that I was so dirty! Ha!”  
  
Saeko is laughing hard, hitting her armchair in emphasis. She is _undoubtedly_ enjoying Daichi’s “humor.”  
  
“I suppose you would be surprised, especially coming from one of the dirty, outlying districts!” The audience echoes her laughter, smiling amongst each other—and giggling at Daichi and his handsome smile.  
  
Hinata’s eyes widen, surprised at Daichi’s pure nerve. His sarcasm is practically dripping and his grin looks frightening— like he’s about to kill someone. But Saeko was chortling nonetheless and the audience seemed to take it all in good tow, not sensing the derision in his voice or expression at all.  
  
Truthfully, Hinata hadn’t expected Daichi to have so much… charisma. He could only imagine that back home in the district, Sugawara is probably watching… and cringing. Sugawara knew Daichi better than anyone after all— and if Hinata could pick up on _this_ many cues from Daichi, he wondered how many Sugawara saw.  
  
“Haha, well if you think like that about our standards—what about everything else? Our food?” Saeko starts, tapping her fingers on her knee. She is smirking, nodding at the audience as they giggle.  
  
Daichi hums, looking up at the ceiling. To Hinata, he’s visibly _pretending_ to think again, before leaning back into his chair. Bit by bit, he repeats his charming smile (frightening to Hinata), tilting his head for good measure. “Well, I wouldn’t know, since we don’t have good food at home. Barely have any food at all. So I guess I’m unsure. _Dumb and ignorant_ —you know.”  
  
The audience is practically wailing with laughter, just as Saeko is. She is laughing so hard that her chair nearly tilts behind—and she has to restabilize herself so she doesn’t fall. Hinata tried to laugh along, but Daichi's words were an unfortunate reality for him. For _everyone_ back home.  
  
“We have such a funny, attractive tribute here! What a great personality! Now, back to what makes you different from our past tributes from Karasuno!”  
  
From the corner of his eyes, Hinata can see several people in the audience nod in delight, taking it all in. Ukai and Takeda were watching this together backstage and he wondered what they must have thought. From what Hinata could tell, Daichi sure was popular. It’s in this moment of thought that Hinata notices Kiyoko lock eyes with him, nodding her head as if cueing him for some kind of action. Something clicks in Hinata’s mind—and he remembers what they intended to do.  
  
“So let’s cut to the chase—the reason why you two are so different! You’ve obviously volunteered for someone—“, Saeko starts, and for the first time, Daichi blinks genuinely, instantly caught off guard. “Must’ve been someone very special to you—“  
  
Daichi shifts, his expression gone serious and slightly uneasy. He didn’t intend to touch on that subject. He was going to make it up as he went, describing why Hinata and he were worth the sponsorship, and worth the Capitol’s time to sponsor.  
  
But as for why they volunteered…  
The Capitol has absolutely _no_ business knowing the details of why he did what he did.  
Those facts lay intimately with him and Sugawara.  
  
…And whoever else he _chose_ to confide in.  
  
“Ah… well—“

“S-SPECIAL—!” Hinata squeaks, straightening up from the chair. Saeko jumps, Hinata’s unexpected action surprising her in her seat. Hinata blushes in embarrassment before scuffing his feet on the ground.  
  
“Well look who’s finally woken up!” Saeko chortles, gesturing down at Hinata. She laughs, getting up to pat Hinata on the back good-naturedly. The audience is placated, apparently finding Hinata’s edginess ‘endearing’ and ‘oh, _so_ adorable’.  
_  
_ Daichi glances at him in question; about to open his mouth when Hinata’s bright orange hair seems to luckily trigger something in Saeko. “I’ve been meaning to ask about the flames on your outfits during the tribute parade—they were awesome! I nearly flipped the table in all my excitement!”

Daichi sees this opening—and uses it as an excuse to change the subject. He _really, really_ didn’t want to talk about why he and Hinata had volunteered. “The flames were real, you know.” He has that handsome façade on again, that smooth voice, with all traces of his earlier expressions of anxiety vanished.

Hinata clenches his fists in determination, then looks up at Saeko. “Actually—Daichi and I have them today. Would you like to see?”  
  
Saeko flails and the audience gasps in surprise. “Wearing—you’re wearing the _fires?_! Would I like to see? _Would_ I ever!! Is it safe? Augh, who cares—show us!” With no outward concern to whether or not they would catch fire and crumble into ashes on her stage, Saeko leans back into her seat, ready to jump up from the excitement and thrill and yet looking like she is ready to protect herself from an oncoming fire—as if Hinata and Daichi would burst into flames right then and there.  
  
Hinata nods at Daichi, signifying his readiness. Daichi rises up from his seat, walking towards the crowd with a deliberate, assertive, swagger-like gait before shutting his eyes, smiling and instantaneously bursting into flames. Hinata pushes himself up from his seat to follow—though in his restlessness, accidentally jumps, jumping unnaturally high up into the air (the audience gasping in response and amazement) twisting mid-air—bursting into flames before even touching the ground. His arms are outstretched, almost appearing to be a crow made out of flames. His orange hair makes the fire appear even more encompassing, wrapping around him like wings made of embers. Both flames are even _more_ prominent than at the tribute parade—like a conflagration of fire engulfing at least a quarter of the stage.

The audience is unhinged; as the entire auditorium rumbles in a mess of applause and howls of encouragement. Saeko is definitely jumping up from her chair, her heel digging into the table as she claps and cheers boisterously.

Both Hinata and Daichi gaze out into the crowd, taking in their applause. Everything has made itself clear to Hinata now, standing up, surrounded by flames while Daichi has stood by, dissipating any traces of remaining nervousness.He locks eyes with Kiyoko who is clapping softly for them, proud of their performance. Daichi nods confidently before he glances down at Hinata who grins right back up at him. Thank goodness Hinata was able to divert the conversation away from the subject of volunteers...  
  
They turn, staring at the audience, again clasping hands and raising them up above their heads, lips pulled straight and eyes full of determination.

“And there we have it!!! District… _KARASUNO_!”

* * *

When Daichi and Hinata exit the stage, they are greeted immediately by Takeda and Kiyoko.

  
“That was perfect,” Kiyoko remarks, nodding up at Daichi and Hinata. She reaches over to fix their collars, then runs her hands through their hair to make it even more windswept. Both Hinata and Daichi are unsure of why, since there are no cameras backstage (none for the world to see, that is), so they figure it must be done out of habit—or, quite possibly, it may be her way of showing her support and affection.  
  
“…Great job.”  
  
Hinata grins, scratching the back of his head, flustered, but smiling happily. He was glowing red, still coming down from the excitement of being in front of an audience.“T-Thanks for giving me the signal, Kiyoko! I almost forgot about it completely!”  
  
Daichi beams proudly, patting Hinata firmly on the back. “I actually _did_ forget it completely. You did great, Hinata.” Kiyoko nods silently, but is clearly proud of them.

They are unaware of the tributes across the room, all being fiddled with by their mentors, stylists and escorts. The Jouzenji tributes were being dusted off, as if being dusted from any semblance of dirt on their person, as both tributes stood straight, smiling brightly and confidently. The Fukurodani tributes seemed to be locked into some kind of heated conversation, with Bokuto emphatically discussing his point of view while Akaashi stood stoically aside him. Not far from them, the Nekoma tributes were being spoken to by their escort, with Kenma (surprisingly not on his handheld), slumping slightly, leaning in close proximity to Kuroo. Both tribute expressions could be easily described as “bored” but their eyes were still and entirely concentrated. Kuroo leaned towards Kenma, whispering something—from afar, almost looking as if he was nuzzling the smaller one’s forehead.  
  
Ukai seems to be examining both Daichi and Hinata, his eyes slowly skimming over their suave suits and polished hairstyles. He nods approvingly, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Nice outfit,” Ukai smirks. It’s at this moment that Takeda joins in, his hair a polished silver, more shiny, metallic and unnatural ( _‘as opposed to Koushi’s’, Daichi thinks_ ) with flecks of turquoise at the ends. Daichi decides for a moment that Takeda must like turquoise.  
  
He is wearing a thick grey sweater-like shirt with a low-cut cowl appearance, falling snugly at his hips. Today there aren’t any layers in his outfit, just a jet-black tank underneath. The shirt’s sleeves are cut similarly to that of a muscle tee, exposing his thin but (surprisingly) lean arms. He wore tight black pants with several black and brown belts coiled around his hips to upper thigh area (all belts with exaggerated metal pieces, in different designs and patterns). He also wore bright, turquoise ankle high boots (presumably to mirror the flecks in his hair), with the boot-lips pushed out with and the crimson laces hanging loose. His square rimmed glasses are a dark, crimson red today, mirroring his laces. He even has a leather gauntlet-like cuff on his right arm, a single black feather imbedded inside of it.  
  
Daichi wondered for a moment just exactly how long it took for this man to get ready to go out.

When Takeda smiles shyly at Ukai’s comment, Ukai raises a brow, smirks—then adds in mischievously, “ _Not_ you.” Daichi has to physically fight the snort threatening to escape his lips, making a slight sputtering sound— but Hinata, unable to contain himself— laughs outright. Takeda pouts his lips and his cheeks flush before lifting his head curtly but playfully, before crossing his arms at Ukai. Daichi thinks he heard Takeda say in a whisper (intended only for Ukai to hear), “Oh, _you_!”  
  
The escort turns (after having successfully poked Ukai), arms still crossed and facing them.  
  
“Well done, I had full confidence that both of you would do just fine. ” Takeda congratulates over his pout, with Ukai smiling in the background. Daichi and Hinata can tell how proud Takeda is by the way his eyes are gleaming and how Takeda’s arms sit comfortably on his hips. His words touched the two more than they really knew, and just for that instant, they didn't notice his extravagant outfit and loud hair, only his warm eyes that looked back fondly at them behind his glasses.

In this brief moment, the small team forgets about their worries, reveling in successfully finishing their interview and genuinely laughing at the ways in which their mentor and escort interacted. Hinata’s bright, unrestrained laughs made it difficult for anyone to stay serious—and even Ukai, cheeks flushed light pink, had a rare moment of content: chuckling in tandem with his company.  
  
.  
  
  
..

  
…  
  
By this time, Takeda can _no longer_ suppress the grin forming on his face.  
  
_“You did it!_

                                      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note [M]: Thank you everyone for sticking with us! A special thanks to Maiden Warrior, we're glad you're enjoying! Hang in there!! <3 -- Also sorry if the story is spaced weird, both ff.net and archive like to mess with our format.
> 
> Author’s Note [K]: First off, thank you guys so much for all the comments and feedback on the last chapter! We were really happy to find out you guys were enjoying this! (A very special shoutout to Maiden Warrior, we tried to make the chapter extra juicy for you! <3) We also tried to get everyone to stand out in their own time during this chapter, more on them in later chapters. 
> 
> How did you guys like the different tributes? Which ones do you relate to the most? How would you react to being interviewed? Would you be sarcastic (but not obviously so) like Daichi? Would you milk the audience and charm them until they’re a puddle like Jouzenji? Be yourselves, like Fukurodani? Or are you the type to manipulate the audience like Nekoma?
> 
> Do you have a favorite team/s?  
> Author M and I have very soft spots for Fukurodani and Nekoma. If… that wasn’t painfully obvious already. XDD
> 
> We’re attempting to make the other tributes seem as ‘other-worldly’ as possible, with attributes to them that specifically go with their districts—just to make things really interesting (and more challenging haha) during the actual Games. Fukurodani has ‘owl-like’ traits and Nekoma has more feline traits (based loosely since different breeds of cat and types of owl behave in varying ways ^_^). Hopefully you enjoyed their unique little traits! There will be more upcoming fluff, but for now, we hope you enjoyed the KurooKen, and the little tidbits of DaiSuga and KageHina!
> 
> Next chapter, we check on how Sugawara is doing (and how everyone reacts in horror to Daichi and Hinata's sassy interview!)
> 
> Please do continue to comment and let us know how we’re doing (or how you’d take on the interview!) Every bit of feedback is appreciated, so again, thank you all, very, very, much.
> 
> PS!! If you thought the quote...
> 
> "In all things, one cannot win on defense alone.  
> To win, you must attack."
> 
> seems familiar.. 
> 
> It's because it's a direct quote from Light Yagami, of Death Note.  
> All CREDITS go to him (owners of Death Note)! I don't know why, but that line just kept repeating in my head as I wrote that scene. LOL  
> Kudos to you Death Note fans out there!)


	8. Sugawara Koushi

Author [M]: Finally, here is chapter 8!! I'm sorry that this took us forever to post. Not only did we fix this chapter a bunch of times, but the file itself was giving us trouble. K will tell you all about it. I'm about 110% done with this chapter. lol Thank you for all the feedback we received during the past couple of months! Anyway, we'll try to get the next chapter up a lot sooner than it took us to get this one out. As always, thank you for your patience.

* * *

 **  
** 8. **Sugawara, Koushi**

 **  
**_It feels like a normal day.  
  
It was warm for once, with a light breeze that softly caressed their faces, forcing wisps of silver-grey hair to flow back while surrounded by buds of green. It was picturesque, peaceful and calming— the exact opposite of the dystopia they truly resided in. Sugawara has his blue scarf on him, tied carefully in a knot around his arm.  
  
Though he had never actually voiced it to Daichi, the scarf had become a sort-of good luck charm— something that all in all was valued immeasurably. He didn’t know where Daichi got the material to make such a thing, especially in that vibrant-blue, but it was familiar—familiar enough in that nostalgic comforting way that made him feel warm inside, the same way he felt when reminiscing treasured childhood memories. Sugawara felt like he’d seen it before, no, he _ knew _he saw it before— when they were much, much younger.  
  
Either way, he knew that it meant a great deal to Daichi, just by the way Daichi would turn his head and smile _ ever so slightly _each time Sugawara had it in his possession.  
  
_

* * *

_Suga focuses his gaze on Daichi lying comfortably on the grass and smirks to himself._

* * *

_In hindsight, Daichi probably already knew how much it meant to him.  
They didn’t need to voice things like that to each other.  
He didn’t think so.  
  
He and Daichi had promised to meet here, at the place outside the wired fences to look out at the view beyond their borders, the view _ beyond _their imprisonment. They were engulfed in a comfortable silence; Sugawara pulling at a few strands of long grass, knotting several together, absently making shapes and haloes with them.  
  
_

* * *

_He was on his back and all he could see were his hands and the cloudless sky behind them.  
_

* * *

_It isn’t too often they can come here with clear and content thoughts, without some form of anxiety looming over their heads. They were safe within the company of each other, and it was these moments, moments where everything and nothing were happening at the same time that Sugawara cherished the most. They could sit or lay like this for hours, simply taking in the sun and enjoying each other’s company.  
  
__Words and feelings unsaid, because that’s how it always was.  
__Sugawara lifts his head to peer at the one accompanying him. Daichi’s eyes are closed, with his arms clasped securely behind his head serving as a makeshift pillow, his chest lifting and falling with every little breath. Sugawara smiles **.  
**__  
Daichi rarely ever looked this at ease.  
  
__Slowly, so as not to rouse the other, Sugawara raises the small abstract shape he’s made with the knotted grass strands, attempting to stealthily lean over and place it on Daichi’s forehead as quietly as he could._ Quietly _, because Daichi always had an annoying (endearing) knack for sensing Sugawara’s presence or movements—even with his eyes closed._

* * *

_But something stops him in his movements.  
_

* * *

_Before Sugawara can rest his small grass-masterpiece on Daichi’s forehead, the ground begins to shake, trembling beneath their bodies. It takes Sugawara by surprise, and he can see the long pieces of grass shake at the sudden turbulence—the dirt beginning to rustle— as pebbles lifted themselves off the ground making rough crackling noises. He pauses to stare at the gravel rumbling against the terrain, unsure of what to make of it._

_  
He thinks he sees something in his peripheral vision.  
From across them, something is moving.  
  
There are two people running hastily—frantically, below the hill that Daichi and Sugawara are resting on, struggling to rush into the forests the slope led into. At this point, there is no sense of alarm in him: only curiosity, bewilderment at what was occurring.  
  
“What—“  
  
He is immediately cut off his sentence when he feels Daichi suddenly move. The only warning he had to alert himself of Daichi’s actions were the blades of grass that broke in his swift movements; suddenly thrusted into the air and falling—_ both slowly and quickly _—like rain. Sugawara moves to face him, but not even half a second later, he finds himself face down on the grass, with Daichi’s hand pressed firmly onto the middle of his back.  
  
Sugawara can smell the broken grass under his nose and he can feel the moist coolness from the pads of grass digging into his chest.  
  
He attempts to lift his head. “Daichi—“  
  
“Shh!” Daichi says promptly—almost harshly. He shifts, moving his hand to forcibly push Sugawara’s head down farther, so far down that his face is nearly in contact with the ground.  
  
The fields of grass on the hill are tall, at least a foot and a half, thick enough to provide a screen from the outside world. Despite this cover, Daichi moves his arm half way over Sugawara’s shoulders, encompassing him, as if shielding him.  
  
He would have resisted, would have pushed against Daichi's pressure, but the apprehension in Daichi's actions make Sugawara think that something wasn't right and that there was danger nearby.  
  
He can sense the urgency in Daichi’s body language; feel Daichi’s breaths tickle the back of his neck. His own body cannot help but respond sympathetically to Daichi’s— react to Daichi’s distress.  
  
Sugawara can feel his heart thump anxiously against his chest as it increases in pace while his breath began to hitch. In effort to steel himself, Sugawara lets out a small, shaky breath, concentrating on Daichi’s focused face to calm himself in return. Daichi is inhumanly still, staring determinedly through the blades of grass, using a few fingers from his free hand to make a small window. Sugawara leans forward to look.  
  
There is a rapid whizzing sound, a sudden _**pop** _and a shrill scream as one of the individuals drops face down, body splayed and unmoving with a loud_ thud _. The other falters, shuffling in their feet in a hesitant backwards and forwards motion—in obvious deliberation on whether or not to go back for their partner before ultimately realizing that his companion is dead. The other continues to flee, as blood gradually begins to pool out of the other, effectively staining and seeping into the ground around him.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
At this instant, Sugawara feels an abrupt wind gusting around them, causing the long grasses to sway violently back and forth—lone strands shoving themselves into his face, a few poking into his eyes. His hair is beginning to lift in response to the wind, the same with Daichi’s shorter, darker strands. In one movement, Daichi shrugs off his dark green jacket, pulling it over Sugawara’s shoulders and head before wrapping his arm around Sugawara again, most likely in attempt to cover Sugawara’s bright silver hair.  
  
_

* * *

_Daichi tightens his grip around Sugawara, encumbering him tightly against him.  
_

* * *

_At this point, Sugawara’s heart is pulsing so rapidly that he is sure that Daichi can feel it while they are pressed together. He feels Daichi turn his head, lips moving slowly. “Keep quiet and stay down.” His voice is stern, barely loud enough for Sugawara can hear. He nods tentatively, his lips clamped shut.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
A massive shadow looms over, encompassing the entire region and _ everything _freezes. Sugawara lifts his head in spite of Daichi's arm and his eyes widen when a hovercraft emerges ahead—so loud it mutes everything else— rapidly closing the distance between it and the runaway.  
  
Promptly, almost casually, it casts a net out to trap him.  
_

* * *

_The whirring sound is unforgettable and the gusts hissing about them continue to increase in intensity._

* * *

_The man screams, panicking and pushing at the netted prison. The runaway is kicking, using all of his remaining strength to resist. His hands tighten on a particular area, clenching his fists tight around the net in an attempt to break free—_ anything _to escape the hovercraft waiting above. Sugawara is watching helplessly, his brown eyes glazing over in terror._

_But then the runaway’s eyes lock with Sugawara and Daichi—and his eyes begin to widen, raging with hope. **  
**  
”HELP!” He yells desperately—his voice cracking and hitching in his throat. He is again tugging fiercely at the nets in a wild, animal-like panic. Sugawara makes a small guttural sound, involuntarily reacting to the situation because he wants to help more than anything—but Daichi clamps his hand over Sugawara’s lips, clenching his other fist and turning his head to guiltily look away.  
  
Daichi shuts his eyes.  
Sugawara's remain open.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
There isn’t anything they can do.  
All they can do is watch, and save themselves.  
  
All they can do is turn away.  
  
_

* * *

_The runaway is slowly being hoisted up into hovercraft._

_Slowly.  
  
There is a metal clang as the net is pulled upwards onto some kind of pulley-like machine.  
  
Slowly.  
  
The seconds go by like hours.  
  
The metal clang continues.  
  
Slowly.  
  
_

* * *

_There is another deafening_ pop.  
  
_Sugawara, if not for Daichi's hand over his mouth, would've cried out loud enough that they might have been spotted. He is stuck, unable to take his eyes off the dark haired man, watching as the pristine white net is stained with bright crimson blood. The man has his head down, kneeling helplessly in the net, visibly shaking,_ crying _, and holding tight to his wounded shoulder. The runaway raises his head to lock eyes with them once more, but there isn’t anything accusatory or overtly disdainful in his gaze. Just a look of resignation—a tired look of yearning and regret, before finally being heaved into the hovercraft and taken away.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
He had short black hair, parted on his left.  
  
_

* * *

_Daichi and Sugawara remain there, lying paralyzed for nearly an hour. Daichi whispers something to him about possible remaining peacekeepers, probably alluding to the victim that had been shot dead beneath the hill. At this point, Sugawara cannot even bring himself to think, so he leans into Daichi, waiting until the other ushers him up, deeming it safe to move again._

_“Koushi,” Daichi is turning his head lightly, left and right, through the small window he made in the grass. “I think it’s safe now. No one’s here.”  
  
He still has his arm around Sugawara’s shoulder, holding him as tight as he had during the attack. It is no longer laced with a sense of urgency but instead with strong feelings of protection. He was trying to be strong (—though his grip betrayed him and proved the opposite: that he was just as terrified as the other). Sugawara has his eyes clamped shut and he leans in closer to Daichi, taking in nothing but his scent._

_He doesn’t want to focus on anything. He can’t get that man’s face out of his mind, can’t get the sound of those shots or the flowering of the crimson blood laced throughout the net to leave his thoughts.  
  
So he relies on Daichi for now, because he doesn’t want to be reminded of the world he lives in.  
He doesn’t want to remember that they could be shot at any time.  
He doesn’t want to remember that their lives meant nothing to the Capitol.  
He can’t get over the fact the runaway looked so simple, just another ordinary district inhabitant.  
  
Black hair, parted on the left.  
  
_

* * *

_He doesn’t want to believe that their lives would end_ that _abruptly if they tried to run away or dared to even imagine a better life elsewhere._

* * *

_  
“…Koushi?” Daichi asks carefully. Daichi immediately ceases his movements, noting the concern in his body language. Sugawara didn’t need to say anything. He tightens his fist on Daichi’s chest, his body continuing to shake.  
  
_

* * *

_He can’t bring himself to forget the face of that runaway.  
_

* * *

_Daichi leans in, leaning his face into Sugawara’s hair before wrapping both arms around him, hugging him tightly. The embrace is strong and steady.  
  
“Come on.” He tries again, nudging him up by tapping Sugawara’s forehead with his nose. Daichi’s voice remains gentle, full of understanding and concern, but still stern at the same time.  
  
“…It’ll be best for us to get out of here as quickly as we can.”  
  
_

* * *

_Daichi’s primary concern is their safety and Sugawara knows it.  
_

* * *

_Daichi pulls away completely for the first time during the hour that they had been here. It makes Sugawara feel cold, oddly cold in this warm, springy weather, that_ was _perfect, absolutely perfect, only hours ago. Slowly, he glances over at Daichi._

 _His lips move, but he cannot bring himself to ask the other not to let go.  
  
Daichi springs himself to his feet, tugging Sugawara up hastily, briskly turning Suga away in a hurried, pushy sort of way— towards the gate to leave the area. Daichi’s movements are so fluid and swift that his intentions are _ almost _hidden completely._

_He was trying to make Sugawara turn away quick enough so he wouldn’t see what was left of the runaway. It would have worked, had Sugawara not caught a glimpse of Daichi's face— scrunched up, in a mixture of sadness and disgust._

_All that was left were the remains of human flesh and bone blown off from the force of the gun, surrounded by that stain of blood, now turned into a muddy crimson brown. The body is no longer there, most likely taken away by the peacekeepers to taunt and jeer at their families.  
  
Daichi was trying to protect him.  
Like always.  
  
“Come on,” Daichi repeats, urging him towards the secret trail they used to arrive at this place. “Let’s go home.”_

* * *

_._

_..  
  
…  
  
When Sugawara hears “home”, he already knows that it _ really _means Daichi’s house. Sugawara often stayed over at Daichi’s because his own father was rarely home, always working in the mines where Daichi’s father had tragically died a few years ago. Sugawara was over so often that he had his own key.  
  
Most of Daichi and Sugawara’s friends decided not to pursue the mining profession, taking their chances instead with hunting, fishing, or scavenging. They were lucky—because the governor’s son, an old friend of Daichi’s (who had simple brown hair and freckles) was quite lenient on the matter. He didn’t ask questions about what they did or where they found their food to trade. They weren’t beaten nor did they receive suspicious glances. If times were especially rough, they could even join the mining trade, only for as long as they needed to—before returning to hunting and scavenging.  
  
Hunting and scavenging—these were things that Hinata and Kageyama were naturally skilled at.  
  
Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were never too far behind, especially with Tsukishima’s innate ability to strategize and think through situations. Yamaguchi was surprisingly good at negotiating good trades at the market, gathering supplies through clever persuasion. They were a team and relied _ solely _on each other.  
  
Nishinoya had a knack for sensing where animals were hiding and (with proper encouragement) Asahi’s brute strength made it easy to sneak up on and make even the largest of game succumb (if there was game to begin with). But that was before, because Asahi no longer hunts.  
  
They all had their own special skillset, though it was usually only enough to ensure that they didn’t starve.  
  
To ensure that they would survive.  
  
Sugawara figured that must have been one of the advantages to living in the district most looked down upon by the Capitol. They weren’t especially guarded because mining wasn’t an ‘essential’ like food or power. While things were bad, he knew it could be much worse.  
  
They were lucky, even if they lived here.  
They were _ lucky _, even though simple people with black hair parted on the left were killed— maybe taken away for attempting to imagine—hoping—for something different.  
  
_

* * *

_.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
When Daichi opens the door, Sugawara finds himself suddenly exhausted, collapsing onto the couch, tugging on a small blanket that rested there. His mind is still fixed on the runaway.  
  
He and Daichi _ _(more Daichi than he)_ _often talked about running away, about leaving this place. The idea remained in back of his mind, floating inconspicuously behind his thoughts. He always believed that it was possible to run, probably, if Daichi was there. Daichi had always been the clever one, intelligent enough to outsmart others. He was extraordinarily perceptive too, able to notice things that others would skim over. They were like two halves that complemented and supported each other where the other lacked. Sugawara was just as capable as Daichi, but perhaps with a little more restraint, more tact when dealing with people’s emotions and issues. Daichi was never the patient one._

_  
_

* * *

_Would they have met the same fate had they chosen to run away?  
  
Would Sugawara be running, leaving Daichi’s bloodied body behind him, intent on the selfish need to save himself?  
  
Would he forget how important Daichi was to him in the event that danger threatened to take him?  
  
Or would it be Sugawara on the ground—waiting to die, hoping and willing Daichi to keep going and leave him behind?  
  
_ _What about their friends and their families?_ _  
_

_How could they leave them behind?  
  
The more he thought about it, the more absurd running away sounded.  
  
_

* * *

_“Drink,” Daichi is sitting on the edge of the couch, jarring Sugawara out of his thoughts, holding a cup filled with warm milk from Natsu’s cow. He traded a squirrel for it (though the family had insisted he take it for free)._

_Sugawara knows Daichi’s been rationing it. He would normally shake his head, tell Daichi to save the milk for himself, but he knows better. Daichi would insist. So Sugawara reaches his hand out to take the cup, nodding in gratitude for the beverage, looking up at Daichi who is now staring down hard at the ground.  
  
“There wasn’t anything we could do. Don’t blame yourself.”  
  
Sugawara straightens himself up, vaguely nodding his head. _ Of course _he knew there wasn’t anything they could do. He couldn’t get that person’s face out of his mind, couldn’t get the image of his bloodied shoulder, that resigned look—or his companion—the one that was blown off like some wild animal out of his thoughts.  
  
Sugawara hesitates.  
  
“I…If we really ran—“  
  
“We wouldn’t end up like that.” Daichi responds firmly.  
  
“But how do you—“  
  
“We wouldn’t. I know.” _

_There is something in the crisp certainty of Daichi’s voice that makes Sugawara feel comforted, albeit for only for a few moments._

_Maybe they’d be lucky.  
Maybe they’d somehow make it through until they were eighteen without being reaped.  
Maybe they’d be able to make some semblance of a life when Reaping Day didn’t conjure up such fear.  
Maybe if they ran, they _ wouldn’t _be caught.  
  
They made it this far, after all.  
Sugawara shuts his eyes, comforting himself with these thoughts.  
Maybe they would be fine.  
  
“Stay here for the night,” Daichi implores, reaching his hand out to Sugawara, gently lacing the tips of his fingers into his hair.  
  
Sugawara shut his eyes.  
_

* * *

_It isn’t long after that Daichi retracts his touch, never one to linger for too long.  
_

* * *

_Daichi rises from the couch, most likely to refill his own cup with more water. He turns to his light haired companion.  
  
_ _"We’ll be alright, Koushi.” Daichi grins, his voice barely above that of a whisper. Sugawara’s cheeks flush, once again feeling warm. He can feel the tenseness radiating off Daichi’s body, but Daichi continues to grin at him, standing tall._

_  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“…Nothing will happen to you. I promise.”  
  
_

* * *

It may have seemed like only a tiny, insignificant detail—but at the time, Sugawara hadn’t noticed that Daichi had purposely said _‘you’_ and not _‘us’._

* * *

He is in Daichi’s vacant house, idly taking care of it while he is gone. Though there was a cold emptiness resonating within the home, something about residing there comforts Sugawara. The idea that he was preparing— _expecting_ —Daichi’s homecoming filled the empty void in such a way that anxiety and frustration could not settle in, even though the probability of Daichi’s return was minimal to none. Sugawara had been battling against his own emotions at the very real possibility that this house may _remain_ hollow and abandoned, but he refused to believe it. Daichi would come home, as _well_ as Hinata, because they were strong and because…

Because they promised that they’d be alright.  
  
It’s barely dawn when he begins to make the bed—a habit his mother had instilled into him by the time he was barely six years old. Daichi had always teased him for it, since Daichi often rose from the covers leaving them rumpled for the rest of the day. It wasn’t until late at night, when Daichi was physically sitting on top of his bed that he would take the time to straighten out the covers before pulling them over his shoulder in preparation for the next day.

* * *

The bed still smells like him.

* * *

The house stood the same as if Daichi weren't away. The same floor boards creaked under each footstep, the same wood-like scent in the air and remnants of a lit fire permeated the home. Glancing out the window, the sky had begun its transition into morning, although the majority of the district remained blanketed in darkness. Everything was more or less the same, despite the fact Sugawara knew deep in his heart that nothing would _ever_ be the same again.

Sugawara wanted to make sure he finished his chores before the tributes’ interview that evening. He’d already prepared dinner for when his father returned from the mines later in the night. Sugawara took on all of Daichi’s responsibilities on top of his own, lately fixing the roof due to the temperamental weather they were having. He hunted and scavenged for two (as if Daichi were home, waiting for supplies and food) although in truth, Sugawara had difficulty barely yielding enough for one. His hands were excessively blistered and calloused and he felt more exhausted, almost listless. His eyes felt heavy, his feet throbbed with pain each step he took. It made him angry that his body was reacting this way, tired and  _spoiled_ —because he knew it amounted to nothing compared to what Hinata and Daichi were experiencing (or were _going to_ experience in the very near future). He had to keep busy, to keep moving, or else he'd start thinking about too many unnecessary things. He had to continue to work his hardest, for Daichi, for Hinata and for everyone here at home.

* * *

He’d also been getting nightmares more often, a mixture of the runaways Daichi and he had witnessed years ago along with images of Daichi and Hinata literally being torn apart, limb from limb, in the arena. The dreams were uncomfortably real, the sounds of bones cracking, the _squishing cracking_ sound of the crushing of their bodies, even the warmth of thick blood pooling around them.  
  
He could feel how warm that blood was as if the blood truly was on his hands.  
  
In his dreams, Sugawara would always be standing there, voiceless, unable to do anything, while Daichi or Hinata lay in front of him, gasping—no— _wheezing_ for breath, with blood trickling down their lips as they stared lifeless into the sky.

* * *

Glancing out the window, he sees a few lights flicker on as others signified the commencement of their day. While there was no doubt that others had nightmares simply about living here, he began to wonder if they felt equally as terrifying. Their nightmares were abstract—a darkness that they could only dream about, with bits and pieces coming to life from the peacekeepers that routinely haunted their grounds. Their nightmare was a constant threat, a looming possibility.

But Sugawara’s nightmares _did_ come true, and he wondered if nightmares about the Games were on a completely different level, especially when they felt that tactile and _real_ — because they involved people he intimately knew.  
  
Of course he wasn’t one to judge the severity of a person’s nightmares.  
That wasn’t his place, and he knew others would beg to differ.  
(Tsukishima comes to mind.)

He wondered if Kageyama was experiencing similar things—since Kageyama had been working himself to death. He knew for Kageyama it was a means to stave off feelings of consternation, a means to put worries aside, a distraction—to keep himself sane. Sugawara had been going out of his way to try talking to Kageyama more often to offer support, but it seemed all Kageyama could really end up sharing was how much he hated the Capitol.

* * *

Sugawara suspects that if it hadn’t been Hinata who volunteered in Kageyama’s place and Daichi volunteering for him—Kageyama probably wouldn’t have bothered to watch the tribute parade at all.

* * *

Idly, Sugawara saunters over to the bedroom closet, grabbing the scarf Daichi had made for him, wrapping it tight around his neck. He makes his way to the front door, locking it behind him, rubbing his hands together for warmth. He cranes his head to the left, seeing a familiar silhouette.

* * *

Stepping forward, with hands deep in his pockets, Sugawara approaches Nishinoya in the distance, who is currently squatting down in front of a large puddle in the ground. It takes him about ten minutes to reach him.  
  
“Noya?” Sugawara asks, crouching down in front of him. He doesn’t know what Nishinoya’s doing, but he knows he wants to help. “Do you need anything?”  
  
Surprised, the smaller male looks up at him, grinning his signature grin. His face was pale from the bitterness of the cold air and he looked like a ball of cloth from far away. His coat—the only one he had—was almost comically large for his smaller stature and he had resorted to wrapping it around himself and folding it in odd corners to avoid the cold air sneaking into open pockets.  
  
“Just trying to gather as much water as I can.” He yawns loudly, eyes watering at their corners because the sun has yet to fully rise and he’d already _been up_ for several hours. Sugawara can see the tiny, white puffs of air escaping Nishinoya’s quivering lips, his smaller body shivering under his tattered, two-sizes-too-big coat.  
  
“Asahi’s getting sicker, I think.” He chuckles, though Sugawara can easily sense the worry behind Nishinoya’s smile. It isn’t as bright as it usually is, more contrived, forced at the edges, as if the smaller male felt he needed to, for both his sake and for Asahi.  
  
“But he won’t admit it. I think I’ll use this to cool his forehead before going down to the lake. There might be some fish there if I’m really lucky. It might do him some good if…” he pauses, smiling dismally. “If… he actually had something to eat.”  
  
Nishinoya continues to scoop up as much water as he can into a small (broken at the edges) receptacle, this time, with Sugawara’s help.

* * *

There were about four or five people wandering the area, but it didn’t mean that it was too early for gossip. Sugawara could practically feel the disdainful looks they were getting, hearing the whispers under judgmental breaths.

* * *

( _‘See how the little one’s_ always _doing the work?)  
(‘ Where is the other? I bet he’s sleeping comfortably. He would, you know, getting that house illegally.’)  
(‘What a shameful man to manipulate someone so small and young.’)_  
  
Sugawara glowers up at them, biting his lower irately, narrowing his eyes, fed up with their wrongful assumptions on his friends. Upon meeting his gaze, the district inhabitants retracted, and as expected, he was met with feigned smiles and waves: fickle attempts to _appear_ kind-hearted.  
  
All he really wanted was for them to leave.  
  
Sugawara glances over at Nishinoya, who paid the people no attention. He made no motion to acknowledge them, didn’t even raise his head to look over in their direction. Noya only continued to scoop up as much water as he could into his cold shaking hands, muttering lightly when water would escape through the spaces in his quivering fingers.  
  
Sugawara must’ve been pouting, lower lip jutted out in distaste, because Nishinoya spoke up gently.  
  
“Don’t worry about it, Suga.”

* * *

Nishinoya didn’t care what people thought.

Sugawara doesn’t know how he can handle it.

* * *

Sugawara looks down at him, then up at the house that he and Asahi shared.  
  
If people _bothered_ to listen, _bothered_ to get their facts straight, then they would know. If they took the time to escape their world of fake scandals, they would find out that Asahi and Nishinoya had acquired the house through absolutely ordinary means. Asahi had no _sordid_ past.  
  
Nishinoya’s distant relatives had died. His family rarely spoke to each other, weren’t close, but he was the only one left. And because he was the only one left in the vicinity, it was naturally left to him. It wasn’t acquired through some back-handed, under the table, illegal means—it was completely legitimate.  
  
And even if it _was_ acquired some other way, even if Asahi _was_ several years older, which he _wasn’t_ , it wasn’t anyone else’s damn business but theirs. The least they could have done was be a little more inconspicuous about their gossip.  
  
“…Did you say he was getting worse?” Sugawara asks, in attempt to stave off his thoughts. He scowls at himself. Every time he sees those townsfolk, those looks of disapprobation, he wants to scream. But Noya doesn’t move, simply choosing to look down, stopping only to examine his hands.  
  
“He’s…” And as if looking for the right words, narrows his eyes. “…Not getting better yet.” Nishinoya lifts his head, still grinning brightly even amidst the circumstances they are in, eyes searching for validation from Sugawara. “That’s… I mean that’s fine, right? Asahi isn’t telling me anything.”

Sugawara hasn’t seen Asahi for a few days now. He doesn’t know if he’s gotten worse or if he’s stayed the same. And while he isn’t one to instill false hope in anyone, the look in Noya’s eyes, that tired, distraught look gets to him, pulling at his heart in a way that he can’t help but reply as best he possibly can.

 “…Sometimes it takes longer to get better.” Sugawara shrugs, attempting to make light of the matter. “I’m sure Asahi not telling you anything is good news. He knows just as much as I do about that after all. Even more.”

 Sugawara can hear a few steps behind them, the villagers stepping in to return to their circle of whispers and lies.

 “Mm…” Noya replies absently, biting his lower lip. “He…I mean he was tossing and turning a lot last night. Had to wake him a few times.”

* * *

Asahi and Nishinoya were good people, and they didn’t deserve this sort of treatment. He hated how people would pretend to smile at them when they _needed_ things, needed to trade for some kind of meat or needed medicinal herbs from Asahi.

* * *

“He’s got a lot on his mind.”  
  
Nishinoya laughs mirthlessly. “Not that he tells me unless I force it out of him.”

* * *

Every time he was approached, Asahi would just smile, too kind-hearted and unable to watch a child or a person suffer, happily offering the herbs he had on hand—much to Nishinoya’s chagrin.                                           

But Asahi wasn’t stupid.  
He wasn’t easily manipulated.  
  
He _knew_ as he handed over those herbs that those people were wearing fake smiles and that they would turn around and say something, something terrible about him or Noya or whatever else popped into their minds.  
  
It was amazing how cruel some people could be when everyone was in a fight to survive together. **  
  
**

* * *

“He’s getting better though, don’t you think?” Sugawara can’t help but chuckle. “Don’t worry. Daichi still needs to beat it out of him sometimes too.”

* * *

Noya often berated Asahi for his kindness, telling him not to bother with people who were so obviously using him, but Asahi would continue to smile gently, scratch the back of his head and attempt to conciliate the smaller male by some other means, saying something on the lines of:  
  
_"…It doesn't change the fact that they are struggling too."_  
  
It usually worked.  
Not that Noya _ever_ forgot what those people said to Asahi. They stuck to _him_ more than he'd like. Someone had to support Asahi, be the guardian deity behind him when others wanted nothing more than to bring him down.

* * *

A laugh.

“Asahi has horror stories about that! Daichi teases him pretty badly!”  
  
Both Sugawara and Nishinoya are skirting around the real issue, pretending that everything is fine.  
  
But it’s okay, because they both know that nothing is.  
It’s okay, because at least they can laugh and smile, even if the only way to do it is through forcing themselves.

* * *

When it came down to it, Asahi was a healer, and he wanted to _heal_ —no matter what the district inhabitants did behind his back. Asahi just had too delicate of a heart. _Glass_. That’s what Daichi called it.

* * *

“I have some herbs I gathered in the forest the other day.” Sugawara replies, easing back into conversation. He didn’t want to ask outright if they needed some, so he decided instead to make an offer himself. “Maybe I can brew something to help.”  
  
Nishinoya looks up at him, hopeful with gratitude, eyes finally brimming with something other than concern. “Could you really? Ah… we don’t have much to trade right now—“  
  
Sugawara shakes his head, lifting his hand to silence the shorter one. “It’s fine. Just give me a minute to go back to Daichi’s to grab the herbs I need.”

* * *

.

  
..  
  
…

It was a good thing he kept most of his medicinal herbs at Daichi’s house, because barely a few minutes later, he returned to where Nishinoya was, who had finished up with his chore.

“I can do it now, if you don’t mind…?”

Nishinoya’s grin remains plastered on his face as he nods his head in the affirmative.The smaller of the two pushes himself up, lifting the receptacle he used to gather some of the water from the puddle. “Follow me.”  
  
Sugawara nods, trailing after him. Their house was similar to Daichi’s, but bigger (though Daichi’s wasn’t particularly large to begin with). Like many of the other houses in the district, it was made out of wood, painted a dirty grey color—probably white once—with a durable metal roof. It fit in with its gloomy surroundings.

Nishinoya and Asahi were both alone, without immediate families, but unlike Yamaguchi and Tsukishima, who literally only had each other, Asahi still had very distant relatives to rely on if _absolutely_ necessary. They rarely, if ever, imposed. In fact, Sugawara doesn’t remember a single instant where they approached. The family didn’t seem close.

Nishinoya had asked Asahi to come to live with him, and Asahi did, much to Noya’s insistence.  
  
Funny how small things like that could be twisted into the rumors that swirled around the district.  
  
Sugawara purses his lips, mind closed off in thought. Asahi and Nishinoya had always been close, always had a certain pull between them that no one could explain. They weren't childhood friends, but they knew _of_ each other. While all the other children their age had become a little wary of Asahi because of his somewhat ‘rugged’ look (Daichi always teasing he looked like a kidnapper when others approached him), Nishinoya never seemed bothered.  

He never cared what Asahi looked like.  
It didn’t matter that he towered over everyone else or looked “a certain way”.  
Noya wasn’t like the other townspeople.

He never was.  
  
Sugawara can remember days walking home with Daichi and Asahi. Noya would often run out from nowhere, bowing his head down in front of a flustered Asahi.

* * *

      
_“I’ve never seen someone that strong before! You lifted all those materials up the mountain like it was nothing!”  
      
_ (Asahi would never know how to reply. He would bend over, scratching the back of his head, assuring the smaller male that it was nothing, that he really didn’t do much. But the other boy never faltered.)  
      
_“Our village is lucky to have you!”_  
      
(And before Asahi could respond: )  
      
.  
      
..  
      
…  
      
_“I’ll work hard too.”  
  
And Noya would bow, running back to finish whatever it was he was doing.  
  
_

* * *

One day, Asahi had finally approached Nishinoya, asking how to hunt.

It was during that span of time that they grew closer without knowing it. Nishinoya grew fond of Asahi’s will to survive and they began hunting together until it became routine.  
      
Somewhere along that line, their friendship blossomed into what it was now.  
_  
Ironic_ , that people thought Asahi was manipulating Nishinoya, when it was Nishinoya who often (if not always) initiated or encouraged Asahi to do things. 

* * *

Nishinoya enters, scuffing off his boots, putting them aside, before heading straight into the bedroom. Sugawara can see from where he’s standing that he’s taking a rag, dampening it with the cold puddle water, squeezing it to get rid of excess liquid, then placing it lightly on Asahi’s forehead.  
  
Asahi flinches at the sudden chill, but it doesn’t wake him. Sugawara watches as Nishinoya gingerly feels Asahi's neck for a temperature, hand slowly brushing past his stubble as he pulls it away. He looks more relieved than anything.  
  
“Just go ahead and do what you need to do. Asahi’s still asleep, but obviously he won’t mind if you’re there. I’m going to make a quick run down to the lake.”  
  
It was rare for people to be so trusting with others in their village (some not even trusting their own families), fearing thievery or worse—but Nishinoya trusted Sugawara implicitly. The feeling was mutual, but it never ceased to make Sugawara feel fortunate and blessed.

Sugawara nods, waving a hand to signal to Nishinoya that he would be alright. “Good luck.”  
  
“Thanks!”  
  
He hears the door lock behind him and soon, a comfortable silence encompasses the room.

* * *

He enters their small kitchen (really a closet with a small stovetop, leaning down and taking two small pieces of wood to start a fire. He wasn’t in any rush and he didn’t want to waste any of the matches Nishinoya and Asahi had saved for the worst of winter. He chuckled to himself, smiling affectionately.

Daichi always saved matches.  
  
For some reason, of all the things in the world, the _one_ thing that Daichi had issues with was starting a fire. No matter how many times Sugawara tried to teach him, he failed.

* * *

_“I just don’t have the patience for it.”  
_

* * *

And he’d always bring his hand to the back of his head, smiling apologetically after losing his temper.

* * *

_“Lucky I’m here to do it for you then, right?”  
_

* * *

Slowly, Sugawara reaches into his jacket, taking out a small bag of herbs. He waits for the water to boil, then begins to brew, encapsulating the stagnant air around him with a strong medicinal but pleasing aroma. Sugawara grabs a small bowl to put half of the concoction in, the other half inside a small bottle to seal it off. He puts the bottle aside where Nishinoya can find it, in case Asahi needed more later.

* * *

As he slowly moves across the house carrying the warm bowl of medicine, he realizes that Asahi has stirred awake, staring miserably up at the ceiling. His voice is groggy and cracking, lips pressed together, a paler version than their norm. Even his hair looks less warm, undertones turned dull and grey. Asahi turns his head, scrunching his forehead in pain, trying his best to smile.  
  
“Did Yuu send you here..?” He is apologetic, but attempting to look cheerful through his sickness. His eyes are red with exhaustion and he has dark, purple-tinged circles under his eyes. His face is sallow and it looks like he’s trying to prevent a cough from escaping his lips.  
  
Sugawara knew him well enough to notice when he was downplaying his illness to prevent ‘inconveniencing’ him.  
  
(Asahi never, ever was a bother to him.)  
  
He’d done more for Daichi and Sugawara than most in the village, and their friendship only strengthened as the years passed on.  
  
Sugawara smiles, taking the seat Nishinoya placed for him in front of the bed. He even put a pillow on the chair—making Sugawara smile. Noya was always considerate like that.  
  
“No, I v…volunteered.” (The word ‘volunteer’ seemed to slip out of Sugawara’s mouth with much more difficulty than before. He realizes it’s because he can still hear Daichi’s voice saying it.)

Sugawara reaches into his jacket for a very small piece of bread—one that he had been saving at Daichi’s house. He lifts it up to Asahi, encouraging him to take it. “Eat this first, then drink up.” He reaches out to feel Asahi’s skin and is relieved to note that there isn’t anything seriously wrong. A little warm, but with rest and proper nutrition, he should be fine. _Without_ rest, and he’d most definitely get worse. Asahi had probably worked himself to exhaustion. So naturally, his body is now paying for it.  
  
“Thanks,” Asahi murmurs, taking a bite out of the bread, then drinking the medicine. He grimaces at the bitter taste, but makes no complaint. He only shuts his eyes in response as he swallowed, then let out a shaky sigh.  
  
“Noya went down to the lake to catch some fish,” Sugawara adds in, knowing the taller man would eventually become curious. He leans back into the chair, raising his eyes to the small side table next to Asahi and Nishinoya’s bed. It had a small bouquet of three near wilted dandelions in it. Sugawara was sure it must have come from Natsu. “He’ll be back as soon as he can.”  
  
Asahi finishes, putting the bowl aside on the nightstand before clearing his throat. He looks guilty, probably thinking he was burdening Nishinoya.  
  
“I think he wanted something extra to eat,” Sugawara insists, trying to quell any feelings of self-deprecation. “You’ll be fine. Just make sure to rest. Stay in bed as long as you can.” Sugawara lifts a brow. "You should know this, Asahi." He says as eyes his narrow, with a japing tone. Asahi can't help but cower a little, even though he knew well that his friend was just poking fun at him. **  
  
**

* * *

There is a comfortable silence between them, with Asahi drifting in and out of sleep. Nothing can be heard but the wind blowing through the trees and Asahi's soft, labored breathing.For a few minutes, it remains like that, with Sugawara sitting calmly near Asahi while Asahi tried to do everything in his power to stay awake, eyes fluttering open and shut with every minute that passed by.

* * *

“…Have you heard anything about Daichi or Hinata?”  
  
Sugawara looks down at him, surprised at the turn of conversation. “The tributes’ interview is tonight. I’m going to the tavern to watch it later.”  
  
“Mm. I should—“  
  
“You _should_ stay here.” Sugawara reprimands, giving Asahi another look. “You’ll get rest or you’ll get worse. Like I said, you know that—being a healer too. I’ll come back later to visit and fill you in, but don’t move.”  
  
Sugawara is leaning in, close to Asahi’s face, making his chair squeak forward. He grins mischievously, as if knowing something the other didn’t. “Seriously, don’t move. Or else I’ll tell Noya.”  
  
Asahi rolls his eyes, then manages a chuckle. He tugs the blanket over him more, eyes half-lidded. As Sugawara begins to lean back into the chair, rubbing his arms for warmth, he is halted again by Asahi’s low, somber voice. “Suga.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“About… the reaping. When I pulled you back, told you stay quiet… I meant—I didn’t mean—”  
  
“I know what you meant.” Sugawara hung his head, staring down at his feet. He knew that day his emotions were overflowing as the situation dawned on him. It didn’t surprise him that he reacted the way he did, not caring if any peacekeeper killed him. He desperately wanted to get to Daichi, no matter what the consequences. He wanted to stop Daichi—to tell Daichi it wasn’t worth it, to _just let him go._  
  
Asahi probably felt remorseful about pulling him back, perhaps thought it was crass and inconsiderate of him to do it. Sugawara felt otherwise. He was immensely grateful— and he knew Daichi was grateful for it as well. He pauses, before opening his mouth, careful with his words.  
  
“I…was emotional that day. You did the right thing.” Sugawara looked down at his hands, examining the newer callouses on them, as well as a faded scar from a deep cut. “If I was killed because of my protests…it really would’ve made everything Daichi did in vain.”  
  
Asahi appears comforted by this, but of course, not completely. He sniffs, turning his head a little to face the other some more, eyeing him through tired, puffy eyes.

“And _you_ ” _,_ Suga says reproachingly, “know better than to work yourself to death like this!” He pauses, pursing his lips. It was a weak attempt to change the subject, but luckily Asahi caught on. He could always pick up on subtle hints, even the tiniest shifts of body language. “Are you out of herbs?”  
  
Asahi sniffles, reaching up his hand to rub his forehead tiredly. “Yeah, I haven’t been too lucky scavenging through the forests. The seeds you gave me last season… they’re not doing well in this weather. I lost them.”  
  
“Mm,” Sugawara commiserates. He never was that good at scavenging either, though he always yielded a little something in the end. “I have some extra…” Sugawara starts, referring to his little herb garden. Well, you could barely call it an herb “garden”, since it was really only a little corner in Daichi’s house near the window. Regardless of its tiny size, it always gave Sugawara some comfort, tending to it and watching the plants grow. It seemed to make Daichi happy too, because the other would always grin and compliment him when the sprouts grew bigger.  
  
He also noticed Daichi watering and tending to them whenever he came by to visit.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_“And here I thought you forgot about them.” Sugawara grinned, standing behind Daichi, hands resting on his hips.  
  
Daichi doesn’t turn, but Sugawara knows from the sound of his voice that he is mirroring that smile.  
  
“Nah,” Daichi cranes his head to face him. “I’m attentive, unlike _ someone _else.”  
  
“Hey!” Sugawara walks up to jab Daichi in the shoulder. “I haven’t been able to visit them as much this week because we’re so tired after our day! I just want to sleep…”  
  
Daichi smiles wider, and Sugawara can see the expression spread all the way up to his eyes. Sugawara can’t help but mirror the emotion, looking away and gently wrapping his fingers around a plant’s leaf.  
  
“It’s fine,” Daichi’s voice has lowered to a more somber, speculative one, reaching out to the same plant Sugawara has his fingers around, leaning over to touch the same leaf. Sugawara blushes at the contact of their fingers, but says nothing. Daichi sighs. “They’re really good company, actually.”  
  
“Yeah? I’ve heard talking to plants helps them grow faster.”  
His mother always talked to her plants. Sugawara swore that they grew nearly twice as fast when she did versus when she didn’t.  
  
“Mm. It’s nice.”  
  
He turns his head to Daichi, tilting his head.  
  
“Nice?”  
  
“To take care of something.”      
  
Sugawara laughs, about to make a joking comment back to Daichi, something like, ‘I wouldn’t expect you to be the gardening type’ but there’s something in the way Daichi looks at their plants, affectionately feeling the leaf next to Sugawara’s hand, tender touches making their way onto Sugawara’s skin that silences him.  
  
His breath catches, stuck in his throat.  
  
Daichi smirks, looking down at the plant, before turning his gaze up at Sugawara.  
  
“…I like it.”  
  
_

* * *

“No, it’s fine,” Asahi replies automatically. Sugawara figured the other didn’t want to impose, especially when he barely had enough for himself. But Suga nodded anyway, as if Asahi had said yes. “I left some extra medicine on the counter for Noya in case you need some more. I’ll drop by tomorrow with the herbs.”

  
Before Asahi could retort, Suga moves forward, leaning his chin on his palm, eyeing the other kindly and curiously. “How are you and Noya holding up? It’s getting colder, and I’ve noticed Tsukishima and Yamaguchi getting up earlier than usual and coming home later as well.”  
  
Sugawara probably wouldn’t have noticed this if he himself hadn’t been getting up and getting home at obscene times. He took care not to reveal that to any of his friends.  
  
“We’re okay.” Asahi answers. He coughs lightly, making sure to lean away and cover his mouth with his arm. “I’ve been chopping a lot of wood for the winter and…gathering as much goat milk as I can.”  
  
Sugawara let out a soft chuckle.  
  
Asahi and Nishinoya owned the cutest, sweetest little pygmy goat in the entire village. Natsu had often come begging to visit it, much to Hinata’s chagrin. Asahi relented of course, he always secretly loved children. And Noya, well… you would never hear a complaint from him, especially where children were involved. They would have made great parents, if they weren’t stuck in a place like this.  
  
For a moment, Sugawara’s mind flits back to the disdainful looks outside.  
_They_ probably would disagree.  
  
He frowns.  
  
“…What is it?”  
  
“Ah, sorry. I lost track of myself there for a second.” Sugawara shakes his head. Nishinoya would always avoid telling Asahi when he got looks like that from townsmen and Sugawara knew it was probably the best decision. Asahi didn’t need any more on his shoulders. “And Noya?” Sugawara asks, pulling his scarf down slightly.  
  
“Fishing and hunting as much as he can.”  
  
This time, Sugawara hums in confirmation. “Of course. ”

* * *

Silence.

* * *

Asahi is shivering under the blankets, and by this time, Sugawara is getting up to look through his and Nishinoya’s closet, to grab another sheet. Nishinoya had mentioned something about an extra blanket in the closet so…

  
“…I’m sorry.” Asahi is quiet, and Sugawara is sure without even turning around that Asahi is looking down, clutching his thin blanket. “About everything that’s happened... It must be hard."  
  
Sugawara shuts his eyes, knowing that Asahi is alluding to Daichi and Hinata, their predicament and the future dangers they will inevitably face. Sugawara turns again, laying out the blanket, tucking Asahi in at all edges and smiling weakly, but as brightly as he can. “Don’t worry. They’ll make it. “

* * *

_Would they really?  
Or was he being too hopeful?  
_

* * *

_“_ Get some sleep, alright?”  
  
Asahi nods slowly, eyes not yet leaving the other.

 "We're here for you, Suga. Noya and I."

 Sugawara turns slightly to meet eyes with his friend, watching as Asahi finally decides to relax his shoulders, falling asleep near immediately.

Sugawara quietly shuts the bedroom door behind him.

He leaves a note for Nishinoya.  
  
_‘I left some extra medicine on the table in case you need more. Go ahead and give it to him the next time he wakes up and before you go to sleep tonight. Have him eat before. He seems fine, just make sure he doesn’t try getting up. I’ll visit after the tribute interviews.  
  
Let me know if you need anything else,  
Suga’_  
  
And with that, he is out the door, making sure it is locked behind him, heading for the town square.

* * *

After leaving Asahi and Nishinoya’s house, Sugawara finds himself staring down at his feet, distractedly replaying the past few days in his mind. It had been both a blur and an eternity for him, simultaneously occurring in motions that were both too slow and too fast for his mind to process. He had been both dreading and looking forward to this day, dreading it because of it signified the commencement of the Hunger Games, and yet anxious—almost _looking forward_ — to seeing more of Daichi and Hinata. His mind was in constant dichotomy, racing through every thought one possibly could.

 He shakes his head.

No, best to keep his mind clear.  
  
And as if responding to his thoughts, a tall dark figure suddenly appears in his peripheral vision. Slowly he turns his head, garnering a complete view of the younger male sitting on some cement steps. It was Kageyama. Sugawara almost wants to smile, relieved at how even during these times, Kageyama remains the same, looking unapproachable, cold and aloof. It was comforting, the notion that “ _some things never change_.”  
  
But he was wrong, because upon closer inspection, Kageyama was different.  
  
His usual stiff stance was overridden by tight lips and worried weary eyes, staring down at fidgeting fingers that wrapped around a small sack that he carried, the tip of his foot tapping impatiently at the ground.  
  
Has Kageyama been able to talk to anyone since the day of the Reaping?  
At first glance, Kageyama looked fine, perhaps a little stressed, but who wasn't? **  
  
** For all these outward appearances, Sugawara knows better. He knows the other cannot communicate well, cannot be without his awkward tendencies and too-harsh voice. So Sugawara approaches carefully, taking soft steps towards the uptight male, _slowly_ , so he isn’t taken by surprise. “Kageyama?”  
  
Despite Sugawara’s efforts, Kageyama becomes startled (Sugawara noting how unfocused he was), looking up with confusion that quickly dissipated with expressions of relaxation. Straight, tight shoulders and clenched fists took on a more comfortable stance, muscles somewhat relaxed—or as relaxed as one possibly could be in the situation.  
  
The Hunger Games must be affecting him more than even Sugawara thought.  
Sugawara was unsure of why he didn’t think of this sooner.

* * *

Was he _also_ so affected by the Games that he couldn’t even see changes in himself?

* * *

“Ah, Sugawara...” Kageyama nods stiffly—tightly— but respectfully, shuffling aside to make room for the older male to sit on the cold, dampened cement stairs. They were waiting for the marketplace to open, the area where they traded for goods and supplies.  
  
Sugawara takes the invitation to sit next to him, wincing at the sudden rush of cold while resting his arms on his thighs, looking up at the gloomy sky. “It’s good to see you, Kageyama.” Then he adds, for the sake of conversation, “What are you doing here?”  
  
Kageyama’s eyes are focused down to his own arms, a small rucksack, which he haphazardly tossed back and forth between both hands. It takes him a few seconds to respond.  
  
Sugawara waits patiently, eyeing the rucksack as it bounced from one side to another in Kageyama’s hands.  
  
_Left. Right.  
Left. Right.  
Left. Right._  
  
When the darker haired male finally answers, his voice is nothing but a small whisper. His hands cease their action, suddenly still and tightly constricted on the sack. “…Wanted to see if anyone would trade two squirrels for half a loaf of bread.”  
  
Sugawara averts his eyes, before shutting his eyes and nodding. He is thankful his voice doesn’t come out strained or overtly stressed. “I’m here to trade too. We need some matches for the winter. I wanted to get started early.”  
  
In all actuality, it was _Daichi_ that needed the matches for the winter. Sugawara could probably start a fire from anything dry—and quickly, for that matter. And speaking of Daichi, did he just say ‘we’ need more matches this winter, as if Daichi was actually here? Daichi had no need of the matches while he was in the Capitol.  
  
And yet…  
  
The mention of Daichi seems to encourage Kageyama to speak, now less tightlipped and more curious. He glances at Sugawara for a split second before again looking away, staring at his own hands and mirroring Sugawara’s actions by lightly biting his bottom lip. Kageyama swallows, his shoes making scratching sounds against the cold cement stairs.  
  
“….Are you coming later to watch the tributes’ interviews?” Kageyama is awkward, but doing his best to communicate. His eyes flit back and forth to the rucksack in his hands, but otherwise he remains still.  
  
Fortunately, Sugawara knows from past experience that Kageyama had never been one to initiate conversations, so he answers back as kindly as he can to subtly encourage the other to speak freely. He smiles good-naturedly, bending his head forward, grinning. “Of course. And you?”  
  
Kageyama nods, his expression turned from a tight line of uncertainty into a deep frown full of ire and regret. He is scowling, tightening his grip more on his bag (towards the top, above the ties, so as not to ruin what was inside). “I hate supporting the Capitol’s sick pleasure, but…”  
  
Sugawara understands. Despite the fact that watching the Hunger Games ultimately went against everything Kageyama believed in—what _everyone_ believed in—he still wanted to because he genuinely wanted to know how Hinata was doing. Sugawara could tell Kageyama was concerned and he looks down at the thought, eyes falling to their worn, aged boots.  
  
“…Did you…ever watch the Hunger Games before this?”  
  
“A few times, when I was younger.” Kageyama answers—a little _too quickly_ —and clearly upset at himself. Again he shifts in his seat, sighing to himself. “…I stopped about six years ago. Every time I saw the citizens… laughing, cheering for their favorites…crying when they die…” He pauses, clenching his teeth. “We’re all just pawns in a sick game to them. I’d put them all in that arena—if I could.”

 "…That wouldn't solve a thing, you know."

 There is a brief pause. Kageyama’s eyes widen slightly and his posture stiffens to one of discomfiture. He rubs his lips together, sighing inwardly and looking away. "I know," Kageyama says quietly, "I'm sorry."

“How are you holding up?” Sugawara adjusts in his seat, makes a motion with his hand, changing the subject as discretely as he possibly could. He does not want the other to become even more distressed over thoughts of the Capitol. Both were probably stressed enough as it is, and Sugawara didn’t want Kageyama to overwork his mind when his body was already at his limit. Kageyama had been working hard, harder than _ever_ since Hinata had left, nonstop, with tenacity that Sugawara never saw before, body shaking and eyes tired, lined with tell-tale signs of insomnia and fatigue.

* * *

He figures with certainty that Kageyama must want to finish his chores early as well to be able to watch the interviews.

* * *

Again, Kageyama hesitates before answering the question. He shrugs, not out of uncertainty, but for lack of knowledge of what to say or do. “…Alright, I guess.” He’s lying, Sugawara can tell. “I…I’ve been taking care of Natsu and Hinata's parents as best I can.” Sugawara blinks, making an affirmative motion with his head. He knows _now_ that the bread Kageyama wants to trade for is probably for Hinata’s family. His taking on double the amount of work was not only to help improve his own mental state, but also to keep his promise to the smaller, orange haired boy.  
  
Kageyama exhales shakily, his eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. “…It should’ve been me.”  
  
At this, Sugawara stares forward, letting the crisp frigid wind hit his face. He reaches his hand up to his scarf, the one he always wore, tightening it against his neck to protect himself from the chilly weather.

He contemplates Hinata and Kageyama's relationship. The two were always out and about with each other, often arguing about something, but sometimes he'd find them sitting somewhere just talking, or more so Hinata talking. They'd either pay Asahi or him a visit when it came to medicine, and of course Sugawara was more than happy to lend them a hand. He isn’t entirely sure what Hinata and Kageyama’s relationship is, but he figures they were close— because even Hinata—who always did things rashly and without second thought— would _never_ risk and trade his life away so easily. Kageyama was special, whether the two of them knew it or not.  
  
Sugawara must have been lost in his thoughts for longer than he anticipated because he can almost feel the awkward aura radiating off Kageyama. Kageyama is fidgeting, rolling his shoulders back and tapping his feet in attempt of finding some way to lighten the atmosphere.

“What about you…?” Kageyama inquires uncertainly. He continues to look uncomfortable, but at the same time, pleased to find someone to speak with— only doesn’t know how to communicate well. His dark eyes remain on Sugawara.  
  
Sugawara feels his face soften, finding Kageyama’s inability to communicate endearing. Daichi was like that in some ways. He spoke more often with actions instead of words. Glances, fond touches here and there, waking up extra early in the morning because he just ‘happened’ to, even though Sugawara knew Daichi wanted to sleep in and was most definitely _not_ a morning person, but that he merely endured it—so they could go scavenging together.

  
If Daichi resorted to using words, it was disconcerting. To Sugawara, that meant that Daichi was unable to voice his thoughts through his actions, that Sugawara missed the cues that Daichi had given him, and that Daichi’s thoughts had been lingering in his mind over and over until he had to force them out in a few unsure sentences.

* * *

Just like the day of the reaping, when he had told Sugawara about his dream.

* * *

It makes Sugawara clench his fists, remembering the tenseness in Daichi’s voice, the doubt in revealing his thoughts as well as the certainty that his dream would _absolutely_ come true.  
  
But Sugawara had brushed it off.

He takes in a slight breath, attempting to sound as relaxed as possible before turning his head to face Kageyama, forcing a small grin. “The same as you. I was picked after all, not Daichi.” Sugawara stares at the cuffs of his jacket, pulling at the torn ends inattentively. “He… was worried, you know. Said he had a dream that I’d be picked. But I...” Sugawara trails off, smiling mirthlessly. “I just… brushed it off.”

* * *

_“You’re worrying about nothing.”  
_

* * *

At the time, Sugawara had attributed it to over exhaustion. Daichi was tired, they both had been training and scavenging and doing excess amounts of heavy lifting days before—a job given to all the men in the village because during a storm the reaping area was ruined and they had to repair parts of the stage that two individuals would unfortunately be standing on not long after.

Ironically, the townspeople had repaired the area which they would soon send their own to die.  
  
A stage which people distanced themselves from, all harboring foolish thoughts that convinced them that there was no way that the tributes taken away could possibly be from their own families.

* * *

_“Koushi…”  
_

* * *

Sugawara thought it was nerves. It was their last year being reaped. Neither of them had ever put their names extra times in the reaping bowl.  
  
He assured him it would be okay, because it always was.  
It would be okay, because they had each other.  
  
Their _last_ year of eligibility.  
It would pass.  
The same way every other reaping did.

He thought that maybe _this_ time, this _last_ year, they could finally attempt to _live_ instead of just _survive_ in a constant shroud of fear and uncertainty that lingered around the Reaping.

* * *

_“It was a dream.”  
_

* * *

Sugawara didn’t _mean_ to be dismissive about Daichi’s thoughts.

He wanted to comfort Daichi as best he could, gently nudging Daichi with his shoulder. Sugawara can remember his own lips curling up lightly, reassuringly, at their edges.

* * *

_“It’ll be okay.”  
_

* * *

He promised Daichi that.

Sugawara had never _broken_ a promise in his life.  
It was something his mother had taught him and one of that last things he remembers about her.

* * *

_“Be honest with those you care about, Koushi. Keep your word, because you don’t know how long they’ll stay with you.”_

* * *

He said everything would be alright.  
  
He promised Daichi that his dreams and his concerns were made up from his imagination, even though throughout the entire exchange, there was a small voice in the back of Sugawara’s head telling him to _be careful with what he says, because anything can happen_. _  
  
_ And now Daichi was off in the Capitol, participating in the Games that they had so luckily avoided for nearly _all_ their years of eligibility.  
  
_Daichi_ was off to participate in the Games, when it _wasn’t_ supposed to be that way.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Kageyama seems to want to say something, because he is glancing at Sugawara uncertainly from the corner of his eyes. His lips are moving, but no words are coming out.  
  
Sugawara, at this point, has thrusted himself completely out of his thoughts, shaking his head to clear it. This isn't the time to be thinking about that. He summons as much strength as he can to nudge the darker haired male’s shoulder— not unlike the way he did to Daichi— because he didn’t want Kageyama to worry and feel like he had to console him.

Kageyama had his own issues to worry about.  
  
“What was the last thing you said to Hinata?”  
  
Kageyama looks abashed, an emotion Suga would sometimes see him wear, although not often. The raven haired male looks down, clearly reminiscing what had occurred.  
  
“…I…” He shifts. “I told Hinata ….” He pauses. “…Good luck.” He finishes lamely.  
  
There’s incredible regret in his face and voice and Sugawara concludes internally that Kageyama must’ve been unable to say much, _if_ anything at all.

 "I… tried to let him know that he has a chance." Kageyama adds.

The tenseness in Kageyama’s actions and in his body language spoke volumes in and of itself. Sugawara grins, leaning forward, reading Kageyama's face. "Do you really think so?"

 The other turns to face him, somewhat surprised by his question. After glancing away briefly in thought he looks back at Sugawara, his eyes piercing right through him.

 "Yes."

Sugawara smiles, inadvertently calming Kageyama's brewing storm of an aura. He feels like there was much more to be said, but decides against making Kageyama elaborate on something that he may not be ready to discuss. He commiserates with Kageyama because he was in exactly the same situation. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that it would help if they both could empty even a little of the bottled emotions within them.

* * *

And Sugawara speaks again, because Kageyama cannot.

* * *

“I was a mess. “ He sighs, looking up at the gloomy sky above. “…And told Daichi not to die.” Sugawara laughs dismally, now realizing how stupid it was for him to ask something like that of Daichi, forcibly putting Daichi in a situation where he couldn’t possibly fulfill a promise with certainty. Daichi took promises as seriously as Sugawara did and yet still, he hadn’t blinked an eye at the outrageous request.  
  
Kageyama staggers lightly in his seat, observing him with wide, inquisitive eyes.  
  
“What did he say?”  
  
Sugawara raises his hand, curling his fingers into the middle of his palm, giving Kageyama a small ‘thumbs up’ (unknowingly mirroring the same actions that _Hinata_ did when he last saw Kageyama).  
  
Kageyama is taken aback, bristling faintly before finally tilting his head in question.  
  
Sugawara smiles warmly at him, brightly and somewhat roguishly, making his best attempt to instill positive thoughts in both Kageyama _and in himself_.  
  
“Said he’d do his best!”  
  
_That’s right._  
He said he’d do his best.

* * *

All Sugawara could do now was believe him.

* * *

Sugawara and Kageyama aren’t the first to arrive at the tavern. There are already people there, clamoring about, anxious to see what befell their first volunteers. Tsukishima and Yamaguchi were seated, with Yamaguchi waving over to Kageyama and Sugawara, pulling out seats that were saved exclusively for them. There were small beverages on the table, a small pitcher of mead and a larger one full of water. The two had appropriately anticipated that the interviews would induce high stress. Distractions, even just from drinking out of a cup were sorely needed.  
  
Sugawara nodded at them when they entered, making his way with Kageyama to meet them. He is grateful for their presence, for taking time out of their day to watch this year's Games with them. Despite all outward pretenses, Sugawara knew that their (“ _their_ ”, meaning _including_ Tsukishima) real intention was to support Kageyama and him (though Tsukishima himself would never admit that).  
  
Once they are seated, things occur quickly. It was literally a blur, as if they had been sitting the second before and now watching as the thug-announcer (as Tsukishima so “fondly” named her) is interviewing district after district. Her name is apparently Saeko Tanaka, not that it mattered to any of them, of course.

Going from interview to interview was like torture. By District Two, Yamaguchi had begun to shift uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to settle his anxiety by nipping at his nails. Tsukishima noticed, only apparent to Suga because his head made a slight movement towards Yamaguchi’s direction. Several minutes in, he nudges Yamaguchi with his arm, gesturing at the water pitcher. Quickly, as if affronted by his own actions (biting his nails must have been done without thought), Yamaguchi whispers a small thank you and drinks as much water as he can. Tsukishima turns his head away, eyes back on the screen, discretely scooting his chair a little towards the left. Yamaguchi smiles at this, takes the invitation, and scoots forward, no longer seated so far off to the corner.

 The Career tributes were excited, _ready_ for the kill. It made Sugawara shift uncomfortably in his chair, seeing the burning fervor in their eyes as they smiled at the announcer, tantalizing the crowd with promises of success and exciting killing techniques. They had a strange allure to them, one that drew people in despite their violent motives. Other districts were less enticed with the idea of killing—and one could see in their eyes that they didn’t want to go through with the Games. Many were frozen in fear and it took a bit of coaxing from Saeko to remove them from their shells. Saeko rose to each challenge, enjoying the prospect of peeling at their shells little by little until they were exposed for the world to see and take at their will.

* * *

There is a shrill cry from the audience that jolts Sugawara and all those at his table, making them jump in response at the screams echoing from the Capitol citizens. _  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“Aoba Johsai!”  
  
_ The announcer is cheering excitedly as they enter, waving at the crowd and tilting their heads in identical, agonizingly contrived plastic smiles. The camera zooms in to display their pristine, white tuxedos and baby blue collared shirts underneath (which shone like the insides of seashells with shades of turquoise and white gleaming as they walked). He remembers District Four’s last victory five years ago, with a young boy that the Capitol _absolutely_ loved. Despite the interminable adoration these two tributes received from the crowds, it was apparent that their position did not hold as high a rank, if only aesthetically. These jubilant enthusiastic squeals amounted to nothing compared to their winning tribute.

 _That_ was how much Aoba Johsai’s winning tribute captured the Capitol.

* * *

District Five, _Fukurodani_ appeared lethal because of their skills and capabilities, but Sugawara could see in the one called Bokuto that there was regret there— and even dread at the prospect of murder and an early death. The other, his partner, wasn’t as easy to read with his straight face and unemotive nature—but Sugawara could feel a sense of melancholy radiate off him. The camera was panning out to get a shot of the two and Bokuto's brief yet uneasy glance toward Akaashi as the crowd cheers them on catches Sugawara's attention. The two seemed to be comforting each other invisibly. _Invisible_ , maybe, to the Capitol, but not to Sugawara. And mostly likely _not_ to the districts watching.  
  
He wasn't _one-hundred percent sure_ , but it hurt to know that even the wealthier districts were terrified as well. He knew the outlying districts suffered under the Capitol, but he had selfishly assumed that it was probably exclusive only to them.

Bokuto and Akaashi changed that.

* * *

District Eleven, Nekoma, Karasuno's rivals and main competitors were similar, this year represented by a short blonde that went by Kenma, and a taller one, Kuroo. Tsukishima notes that the two seem too calm and collected—almost overconfident— especially being from an extremely poor, outlying district—but immediately quiets down once Kuroo begins to speak. From just listening to Kuroo’s words and responses, they could see that their appearance was a façade. It wasn’t that they weren’t scared; it was that they were keeping firm control.

This said, Sugawara could not bring himself to believe _anything_ Kuroo said, because everything felt like it could have had an ulterior motive to it. The only things that appeared genuine were his well-hidden actions to comfort and soothe his partner.

If given a chance to think and create a plan… Sugawara had no doubt that they could easily be rid of other tributes through pure cunning and manipulation. And yet like Fukurodani, it seemed that they didn’t want to.  
  
To be sure, Nekoma's tributes were not ones to underestimate.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
It felt like it was taking forever to get to Daichi and Hinata, especially with the twenty minute breaks in-between. Sugawara’s palms are increasingly getting warm and sweaty from the nervousness, his face becoming an unnatural shade of pale. Many of the previous districts appeared confident, well-established and _moreover_ : capable. It made Sugawara sick to his stomach thinking how he pitied several of them, especially the ones from Fukurodani and Nekoma— but _still_ hoped for their failure so Daichi and Hinata would triumph over them all. He hunched over his seat in shame upon realization of what he just thought to himself.  
  
Was he no different from the Capitol?  
Picking favorites amongst these lives?  
  
When he reaches for a glass of water in front of him, Sugawara hears Kageyama exhale loudly. He can feel his own heart leap into his throat when he hears the television flicker back to life from intermission to full on action. The bright lights are encompassing the stage and when Daichi and Hinata finally enter, it feels as if the world has stopped.  
  
Kageyama is staring intently, his eyes concentrated on the screen in front of him, while Sugawara, too stunned to concentrate, feels his eyes widen at the sight in front of him.  
  
He had never seen Daichi and Hinata look so incredibly… _polished_. They are matching, wearing the same outfit, but at the same time, looked remarkably different.  
  
His eyes naturally focus on Daichi, who has his hair slicked back, tousled to achieve that windswept effect, but also ‘calm’ enough to associate with a refined, suave sort of feel. He is wearing a black, sophisticated suit, with a texture that looks somewhat similar to his tribute parade outfit. He thinks he can see outlines of indiscernible patterns on the suit, perfectly tailoring Daichi and Hinata’s body. There is a grey collared shirt beneath, buttoned, with a tie hanging around his neck. The red on Sugawara's cheeks darken.

  
It must’ve been a very obvious blush, because Tsukishima couldn’t help but give a surly comment about it. He can see from his peripheral vision that Tsukishima had raised a brow at him, grinning haughtily and adopting a voice that was both simultaneously teasing and condescending. “ _Ooooh_ , you look surprised.”  
  
“Tsukki!”  
  
Sugawara eyes Tsukishima, averting his gaze back at the screen. He can feel his cheeks heating up embarrassingly, can feel the red radiating off of his face. He shuts his eyes, attempting to will the offending colors on his face to _fade and go away_ , but it’s futile and he knows he cannot help it. To his dismay, when he finally answers, he can _hear_ the pout in his own voice.  
  
“W-Well…it’s just... around here we’ve... never had the means... or a reason to…”  
  
“To actually look _good_?” Tsukishima is snickering, holding a hand up to his lips to hide the evident mocking in his voice. His brows are intimidatingly knotted inward and Sugawara can see the grin behind his fingers and the glint of mockery in his eyes even behind their frames. Never once did they have any reason to dress this fancy. While it was true they were required to be "cleaned up" for reapings, no one owned such formal attire, at least, no one that they personally knew of.  
  
“Tsu- _kki_!” Yamaguchi is more emphatic now, tugging at Tsukishima’s sleeve while Sugawara pouts good-naturedly. He chances a glance at Kageyama, who is also bright red in the face with astonished eyes as they followed Hinata on screen, who, although trembling and nervously reaching his hand out to feel for a seat behind him, already appeared like he was on fire.  
  
It must’ve been that bright orange hair.

 _“Hello, hello!”_  
  
Daichi stands tall, self-assured and clasping Saeko’s hand in a friendly shake before sitting comfortably in the chair—one leg crossed over the other.

  _“Last but not least, we're finally at District Number Twelve, Karasuno, and boy, we’ve got a very interesting pair here—probably with a great story to tell! I’m sure we’re all excited to hear it!”_

  
Sugawara is unaware why he hasn’t noticed, but Saeko’s ridiculous Capitol Couture outfit seems to stand out more in this interview than it did during the others. She suddenly had diamond earrings that glittered with every turn. Sugawara must have been paying attention more to this interview than he was to the others.  
  
Hyperaware.  
  
 Kageyama scowls contemptuously under his breath, tightening his grip on the wooden mug in his hand.

 _“I can’t keep my mind off your entrance at the tribute parade—blazing in fire, hands clasped in a show of pride, now that’s what I like to see!”  
  
_ Sugawara leans back into his chair, arms crossed as his eyes fiercely scanned everything in front of him. It was almost as if this was the first interview and not the last—because he was noticing things on the stage that he hadn’t noticed before—and was Daichi _always_ that tall? Or was it the difference between him and the other two on the stage?  
  
 And _since when_ was he _so_ …

He notices Daichi raise his brow as he crosses his legs, lips tugged upwards, smiling attractively as he sits up straight. Sugawara can see how empty the expression is—because Daichi’s eyes, often vibrant back in the district, are already full of revulsion. Aside him, Hinata is nearly cowering, apprehensively eyeing the ground, then looking back to the crowd, looking as if he is becoming dizzy. Sugawara wasn’t too sure though, since he didn’t personally know Hinata well enough for any intimate cues he may have been sending. The sound of Kageyama’s voice tipped him.

_"Just relax."_

_Kageyama_ , however, _did_ know Hinata and he continued muttering something underneath his breath, something that sounded suspiciously encouraging **.**

Sugawara already felt immense pity for the orange-headed tribute. He wondered what Kageyama was feeling right now, somewhat but not truly reunited with Hinata, willing his thoughts to the smaller tribute with sharp gazes and strained whispers under his breath. Sugawara wondered if Kageyama’s looming worries since the tribute parade were somewhat mollified with Hinata’s presence.

Sugawara looks down at his own hands, needing a sudden break from the screen in front of him. For Sugawara, his emotions were at constant war, with feelings of happiness and relief juxtaposed against ones of despondency and endless apprehension. Daichi _safe_ was a blessing, but Daichi _in the Capitol_ was a curse.

* * *

Hinata and Daichi had volunteered in their place.

It was supposed to be him and Kageyama standing on that stage, sitting enclosed in those seats, staring the interviewer in the eye. It was supposed to be _them_ preparing for the arena. But it _wasn’t._

* * *

 _“And two volunteers,"_ The Capitol really seems to be using that excuse as a way to amp up these Games _, "—from one district—much less a district that’s never had volunteers before!”_ The amount of energy this announcer has is astounding. Her wild gesticulations and feral grin hasn’t faltered even after eleven interviews. The suspense in the air inside the tavern as well as on the television is so thick it could be cut with a knife. Wide, expectant eyes are everywhere—in the Capitol, as well as here.

 _“How do you feel?”_ Saeko looks to be more interested in Hinata, turning towards him and aiming her questions at him. Unfortunately, Hinata seems confused, blinking at her and tilting his head.  
  
The response he made was one where his mouth dropped open, uttering only a single syllable.  
  
_“…Huh?”  
_  
“Dumbass _...!”_ Kageyama whispers harshly. His body language contradicted his livid tone—hunched forward, eyes glued to the screen, mouth slightly open—which spoke solely of concern, _not_ anger.

There is a roar of laughter on the television screen at Hinata’s belated response, even a few chuckles in the tavern—which immediately dissipated at Kageyama’s murderous glare.  
  
Sugawara would have laughed, but he cringes at the cries emitting from the television.

 _What a sweetheart!  
He must be so homesick!  
Look at just how adorable he is!  
  
_ Were these people serious? How could anyone be so _callous_?

Even Tsukishima wasn't laughing.

 _“You’re nervous, eh? I can’t blame you; I’d be the same if I was in your position!”_ Sugawara thought Saeko was about to try again, in attempt to remove Hinata from his nervous state, but to his surprise, she turns her attention elsewhere, smiling over at Daichi, almost _winking_ at him. Hinata follows her gaze, but otherwise remains quiet. Daichi regards her carefully and there’s a glint in his eyes that is all too familiar to Sugawara—one that makes him both nervous and weak in the knees. Daichi was notorious for having a short temper and Sugawara hoped that he’d keep his temper under control and _in check_ —at least for the interviews.

 But still… even with these situations, Daichi’s self-control could _not_ be relied on when it came to his temper.

 _“So let’s start with you then.”_ Saeko turns to Daichi, her eyes raising to focus on his face down to his feet, sizing him up. Her lips curl ever so slightly, as if she expects something. _“How are things here?”_  
  
Sugawara flinched at her excitement. He hoped she didn’t expect a glistening _all-smiles-all-content_ answer, because he’s known Daichi for his entire life, throughout both good _and_ bad days and he knew better than anyone that when Daichi looked like that…  
  
Daichi appears to be pondering an answer as he smirks ‘agreeably’ at her. Sugawara pulls his head down, so his entire neck is hidden in his scarf, as if hiding from Daichi’s response. _“Wonderful. It’s definitely a far cry from what we have back at District twelve.”  
_  
_“District Twelve!”_ The way she says their district name makes nearly everyone in the tavern frown, unamused with the way she’s laughing—her voice laced with that condescending, _because that district is garbage_ manner. There is a small shift in Daichi’s movements, _very slight_ , but he can see that it’s made Daichi more on edge than he already was. Daichi persists in keeping his expression look interested, interested in what she’s about to say, even though it is agonizingly apparent to Sugawara that he wants nothing more to do with her.  
  
_“Now enlighten me with these changes—we haven’t seen Karasuno stand out at all for years at the Hunger Games, especially since all the tributes from the “Flightless Crows” haven’t been too interesting from our experience.”_ She turns to the audience, towards the cameras in the room, winking at the derogatory nickname. The bemusement in her expression reaches her eyes, glistening at the joke.  
  
At this point, Daichi’s left eye is twitching. Suga can see that Daichi’s smile is faltering—dropping slightly at its edges, fighting to keep itself plastered on his tanned face. Sugawara doesn’t have a complete view of his body, but he’s sure that Daichi is holding it all in, with fists ready to land on their target: this announcer, Saeko (or quite more literally, Saeko’s face.) He is sure that it is taking everything in Daichi _not_ to react.  
  
Sugawara is unsure if anyone else is picking up on these cues, but he’s hoping no one is. He didn't want their chances of gaining sponsors to be affected. He didn't want the President or the Game Makers to think that Daichi was hiding anything, or more importantly, think that Daichi was up to something. Daichi needed to keep his temper in check, or else it would be the end of them. There was no way they would survive the Games without any help from the sponsors.

 A single gift meant the difference between life and death.

 “ _Oh?”_ Daichi remains calm, but there is incredible tension behind his voice. Sugawara can hear how Daichi’s words are being forced out from behind his throat, his teeth _gritting_ and body struggling to appear relaxed and content. His lips are forcing themselves upward into a wider smirk and it’s incredibly painful to watch.

Painful?  
_Or frightening?_ Sugawara isn’t sure. He knew if Asahi and Noya were here, they’d both be cowering in their seats, cringing at the swirling storm (Daichi’s temper) undoubtedly ready to explode.  
  
_“That’s unfortunate. We’re a bit different—though.”_  
  
_“Yeah?”_ The announcer begins to twirl a finger in the air, as if there was an imaginary cord attached to the microphone in her hands. She looks satisfied with the way the interview is going and she nods at Hinata and Daichi, pleased with the suspense and allure they are bringing to the Games. They said they were different— and the Capitol was clearly thirsting to know more. _“How so? Ah—before telling us how you’re both different to the boring tributes we usually get from Karasuno, please, enlighten us! How does being here differ from back home?”_

Tsukishima spits out an audible _"Ha_!", clearly less than thrilled by Saeko's remark.

Others in the tavern share a different looks, a few offended, others ashamed and embarrassed.

 There are sharp intakes of breath from the audience in the Capitol, suspense becoming unbearable as she delayed the answer. He was sure it was part of her ploy, part of making the crowd as entranced as possible. It was one way to keep the audience entertained, Sugawara supposed, but they were sending these people off to their deaths. Was no one else _bothered_ by that? He found himself becoming impatient as well, not fond of the way Saeko was pacing herself.

 _“Hmm…”_ By this time, Daichi has put his hand on his chin, eyes half-lidded, looking to be in deep thought. It was an act—because Daichi didn’t ever look like that when he was really thinking about something. This was all for show, and it was working. He wondered for a moment if Daichi had been coached backstage or if this was all Daichi himself pulling the audience into a mesmeric trance through his charm. Sugawara figured it had to be the latter.  
  
_“…The standards are different.”_  
  
And there, _there’s_ that dangerously sweet smile, white teeth glistening, the one that looks like he’s about to rip Saeko’s eyes out of their sockets.  
  
_“The standards?”_

 _“Mm, for example, cleanlines_ s.” The venom dripping from his voice is painfully evident—and Sugawara can feel the hairs on the back of his neck stand, fingers clenching slightly. Daichi is losing his patience and it was only a matter of time before he finally broke. Sugawara finds himself again cowering into his scarf, feeling the fabric in his palms, tightly holding the soft material in his hands.

  _“Now_ obviously _I’m not clean enough for Capitol standards…“_

Sugawara’s eyes widen in horror. ‘ _Daichi_!’  
  
Daichi’s smile becomes larger, smiling so brightly that his face really didn’t need to be further illuminated by the cameras surrounding him. The hatred in his body language and in his voice is _dripping_ off of his body—the small  _hiss_ out of every word forced out of his lips—the _stiffness_ in his arms—the light _trembling_ of his fists—  
  
.  
  
..

…And as Sugawara shrinks further in his seat, he notices no one else in the tavern is reacting. He blinks, taking a moment to observe his surroundings. No one was reacting as he was, not even his companions. He sighs, appeased by this. If only _he_ was picking up on Daichi's body language, then maybe— _maybe_ he didn't have to worry about certain people in power. He applauds Daichi for having the gall to be this aggressive in front of so many people.  
  
If Daichi’s behavior didn't factor into his survival, then Sugawara knew he would be all for the effrontery... but…  
  
It isn’t long until that sense of comfort, that sense of _‘no one noticing’_ Daichi’s passive aggression is taken away from Suga.  
  
Much to Sugawara’s chagrin, Daichi _isn’t_ attempting to hold back at all. He’s continuing to speak in that same, contemptuous tone (while somehow feigning a delighted, amiable one): _“I was SO surprised when they prepared us for the tribute parade. Took probably at least four hose-downs! I wasn't aware that I was so dirty! Ha!”_  
  
That ‘Ha!’ made Sugawara squirm.  
But Saeko is laughing hard, laughing harder than Sugawara noted in the last couple of interviews. She is enjoying Daichi’s little comments, so much so she is hitting her armchair to emphasize her delight. She apparently finds his ‘humor’ attractive. …Or at the very least, entertaining.  
  
_“I suppose you would be surprised, especially coming from one of the dirty, outlying districts!”_ The camera pans out to show the reactions of the audience. Like the interviewer, they are entranced with Daichi, a boy from a _dirty, poor and hopeless_ district, echoing Saeko’s laughter, giggling and whispering things to each other, smiling up at Daichi (and blushing in their cheeks).  
  
Even Kageyama is smirking, enjoying Daichi’s cynicism so much so that he overlooked Saeko’s referring to them as a ‘dirty district’. Kageyama had spent the entire interview session scowling at tributes, cursing the Capitol citizens and the announcer under his breath—and yet during this interview with Daichi and Hinata, he seemed calmed, _almost_ reassured by their actions.

The Capitol audience appearsto be drinking everything up, sighing and cooing at Daichi as he handsomely shifts in his chair— smiling attractively, debonair and unbelievably poised.

Sugawara had no idea Daichi could be this… _charismatic.  
_  
Only Daichi could pull something like that off with that murderous grin plastered on his face. Sugawara hopes that he's had his fun and will soon decide to answer questions with less…cynicism. Daichi’s nerve right now isn’t exactly safe, nor is it the best idea.

 So Sugawara shuts his eyes to will and send his thoughts to Daichi.

_“Haha, well if you think like that about our standards—what about everything else? Our food?”_

Daichi hums lightly, craning his head to look up at the ceiling. Again, he’s _pretending_ to think. Slowly, _that_ charming smile starts to take form on his face, and he tilts his head handsomely to emphasize his charming allure.  
  
_“Well, I wouldn’t know,_ ” Suga hears Daichi’s voice on-screen again, “ _since we don’t have good food at home.”_ Sugawara bristles. _“Barely have any food at all. So I guess I’m unsure. Dumb and ignorant—you know.”_

‘ _He’s going to get himself killed_!’ Sugawara thinks frantically. His fists are clenched so tightly that they are turning white with pressure, frowning up at Daichi’s face. _‘Daichi!’  
  
_ At this point, Sugawara wants to crawl somewhere and disappear. The people in the tavern mumble amongst each other, now chuckling and laughing. They’re all enjoying Daichi’s performance—his _audacity_ — his _venomou_ s sarcasm— despite Sugawara’s inevitable growing concern.

The Capitol audience is teeming with delight, clapping energetically at him. Some of them look inebriated with glee.  
  
At this, Sugawara feels his body drop, his previous rigid stature melted away, raising a brow incredulously while sighing miserably.  
  
Daichi is lucky he’s so…so…. _popular_ _and attractive.  
_  
All this anxiety couldn’t be good for Sugawara’s health. He shut his eyes tightly, letting out another breath. He is compelled to open them when he senses eyes focused on him. Kageyama is staring, and Sugawara can't help but chuckle exhaustedly. Kageyama attempts to smile, only to give an awkward albeit frightening grin in return. Kageyama could see that Sugawara was under stress, since he was practically twisting and turning in his seat.  
  
 At this point, Saeko’s chair is nearly about to fall with how far she is tipping back. Sugawara smiles dismally. That’s right. He was about to hit the ground soon as well—what with all the anxiety Daichi was giving him. But this time, he chances a glance over at Hinata, who is trying to laugh along with Daichi’s words, but having a difficult time in doing so. He is instantly reminded of Kageyama's awkward grin.

They all knew that starvation was an imminent problem in the district. By the way Kageyama’s face turned from amused to brooding and serious proved that he and Hinata must’ve met with some hard times. Tsukishima nearly turns away at Daichi’s comment, choosing instead to swirl the mead in his hands, muttering something to Yamaguchi under his breath.                                                                                                               

Starvation, hunger—that was a reality for everyone, but each person showed it differently.  
  
“ _We have such a funny, attractive tribute here! What a great personality! Now, back to what makes you different from our past tributes from Karasuno!”_

Here. This is where they needed to stand out.

Both Daichi and Hinata straighten at this statement, with Hinata moving his hands on either side of his legs, presumably gripping the cushion he was sitting on.

 _“So let’s cut to the chase—the reason why you two are so different! You’ve obviously volunteered for someone—“_ The immediate change in subject pulls even Daichi off guard, because he blinks genuinely and for the first time that night. Sugawara can see all the emotions plainly on his face, not masked by sarcasm or bitter loathing. He can see the uncertainty behind Daichi’s eyes, the hesitancy— _as well as—_

Sugawara looks up at this, as Kageyama purses his lips. Daichi looks tense now, the cunning smile on his face and his previous insouciant manner slipping away completely.Hinata doesn’t like the change of conversation either—because he is sitting straight up in his chair, as if he had been electrocuted from behind.  
  
_“Must’ve been someone very special to you—“  
  
_ Both Sugawara and Kageyama flush conjointly.

Every semblance of Daichi’s façade was gone at this point. He looked stunned. Sugawara can see it by the way Daichi’s dark brown eyes flit away, the way he moves his body, stretching his shoulders uneasily. His mouth opens, but he says nothing.  
  
Hinata flutters to life, restless, but suddenly determined. What was he— _  
_  
_“Ah… well—“_  
  
There is dull, uncomfortable silence in the tavern now, all eyes shifted over to Sugawara and Kageyama, as if waiting for their responses.  
  
_“S-SPECIAL—!”_ Hinata lets out a high pitched squeak, but it’s extremely loud and by this time he is nearly taller than Daichi, straightening up even more than he had done so previously. There are a few gasps in the room (and in the Capitol audience) at Hinata’s sudden outburst. Hinata’s sudden exclamation makes the interviewer jump in front of him, with Daichi turning his head in momentary surprise. There is a faint blush coloring Hinata’s cheeks, mumbling to himself again. His head must be rushing. **  
**  
“ _Hinata…!_ ” Kageyama sounds like he’s sneering under his breath, like he’s about to throttle the television, but his eyes remain the same—glazed with worry. His teeth are clenching now, watching in trepidation as the small orange-haired boy scuffs at the ground embarrassedly.  
  
_“Well look who’s finally woken up!”_  

Judging from the ‘ _awww’’s_ resounding from the audience, it was obvious that Hinata had won them over. There were ceaseless chants of _‘oh, he’s so adorable’_ throughout the entire Karasuno interview for every comment on how _‘handsome and alluring’_ Daichi was. At this point, Daichi glances at Hinata in question, as if imploring the smaller one to change the subject—so they wouldn’t have to answer the interviewer’s prior question. Daichi opens his mouth, presumably to question Hinata, but Saeko interrupts, having remembered something.  
  
_“I’ve been meaning to ask about the flames on your outfits during the tribute parade—they were awesome! I nearly flipped the table in all my excitement!”_  

Sugawara can see the glint in Daichi’s eyes at this statement.  
Daichi is relieved.  
  
_“The flames were real, you know.”_ There goes that handsome façade again. His smoother, more confident voice has returned, and all traces that Sugawara saw of hesitancy and uncertainty on his face have vanished completely.

Sugawara knows Daichi well enough to see that subtle segue into the newly mentioned subject. He doesn’t question Daichi’s obvious insecurity (although Daichi’s reluctance probes his curiosity).  
  
At this point, it feels as if everyone in the tavern is clenching their fists in anticipation.  
  
Something changes in Hinata. He is tightening his hands in determination, nodding his head up to look up at Saeko, with lips stretched into a thin line. 

 _“Actually—Daichi and I have them today. Would you like to see?”  
_  
There is a collective gasp within the audience and in the tavern as Saeko flails concurrently in her seat. Hinata smirks at this, his countenance suddenly brightened, _determined_ to put on a show. _“Wearing—you’re wearing the fires?! Would I like to see? Would I ever!! Is it safe? Augh, who cares—show us!”_  
  
Sugawara half-imagines (or was it not imagination?) Kageyama muttering, saying that he wished the fire was real, so that it would burn everyone in that audience. It must have been real, because Tsukishima responds with, _"wouldn't that be a sight."_  
_  
_ Hinata nods confidently at Daichi, presumably signifying their readiness. Daichi is walking towards the crowd in an ostentatious, swagger-like walk that Sugawara’s never seen before. Sugawara can feel himself recoil, flushing lightly and embarrassedly right before Daichi’s black suit abruptly burst into flames. 

 _What the—!!_  

Hinata follows in suit, excited, jumping an amazing height into the air, like a burst of frenetic energy—( _‘so short’,_ Tsukishima mumbled, _‘the camera didn’t even have to lift up to get it on screen…_ ’) twisting and burning mid-air, arms outstretching like wings and earning gasps all around him before touching the ground, sparks bouncing off stage below him. 

Thanks to his black suit, he gives the impression of a crow made of flames, beckoning and flying out into the crowds. 

The entire tavern watches in astonishment as the two representatives of their poor district stood— _once again_ proud and burning brightly, flame strong and _not diminishing, not in the slightest—_ in front of Capitol cameras—for the entire world to see.

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
**  
** There is a silence, a shared blank stare of bewilderment as their hands make their way towards their mouths. When Hinata finally hits the ground, the flames around him and Daichi encompass them both, wrapping around them like wings made of embers. The flames were now wrapped around nearly the entire length of the screen—with the fires burning around Daichi and Hinata like extensions of themselves. _These_ flames were more prominent and stronger than that of the tribute parade.  
  
Sugawara isn’t sure if it’s the effects of the camera recording this or if they truly are lighting up the stage like that, because about six rows of the audience on screen—including Saeko, who was several feet behind, lit up as well, their faces lit up with a fiery glow.

* * *

In that silence, there was a mutual understanding that the scene before them had all registered within the district in the same way. Somewhere inside—whether they were aware of it or not—it had lit a _spark_ amongst the people.  
  
"Hey," one speaks up amid the crowd,swallowing as the words were forced out of his throat to break the silence. "...He looked like a crow."  
  
Without thinking, without moving and _without_  taking his eyes off Hinata, Kageyama smirks, arms crossing in pride before finally responding:  
  
"And he  _flew._ "

* * *

At this, Daichi and Hinata turn, staring confidently into the audience, clasping hands and raising their hands above their heads, again in a show of pride, with lips pulled straight and determined to _win and to survive._

 _“And there we have it!!!”_ Saeko exclaims elatedly, “ _District… KARASUNO!”  
_

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
It wasn’t just the Capitol audience that responded with great adulation that night, because the small tavern had burst as well, with the people cheering proudly for their tributes. **  
  
**

Sugawara takes a moment to look back at the screen, eyes brimming with hope.  
  
“They can make it.” Sugawara mumbles, turning to face his companion when Kageyama whispers lightly, only loud enough for him to hear against the crowd, repeating the words he had just expressed.  
  
"Sugawara, they can make it."  
  
Kageyama is staring up at the screen, watching it go dark, gazing intently at Hinata while the small, orange haired boy sheepishly scratches behind the back of his head, undoubtedly proud of the scene he and Daichi conjured up. Midnight blue orbs flash back to Sugawara, possibly waiting for a response to his statement.

Radiant brown eyes glance up briefly to see Daichi smirk, arms crossed.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
..

 

* * *

 _Are you proud of yourself, Daichi?_

* * *

The camera pans out to show Capitol citizens clapping loudly, mouths open and brows raised with eyes gleaming curiosity and fascination. It makes Sugawara well up inside a sense of pride, a sense of certainty, that _Daichi and Hinata_ did this, that they had successfully captured the Capitol, with pride and honor intact. That certainty, that feeling of pride, makes him grin mischievously as he finally turns to looks back at Kageyama.

  
“…Yeah.” He says, tenderly tightening his grip around his scarf. “They can.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note [K]: How many of you felt sorry for Suga during that whole interview exchange? Did any of you giggle at him?
> 
> Anyone laugh at Tsukki's tasteless jokes and teasing Suga? Get angry with him? (It's alright, because he means well).
> 
> Any ideas on who that runaway might be? ;D Maybe that avox Daichi thought looked familiar is actually someone you know and not just some faceless individual. Hohoho~
> 
> .
> 
> HHHHHHHH—*wrings hands in frustration* PLEASE allow me to explain why this took forever to post. I wrote this chapter a long while ago—but as we've made several changes in the interview chapter, I had to rewrite the whole thing. And then we took a look at the rewritten version, and we weren't happy that, so it was rewritten again. This chapter was for some reason unbelievably hard for me to write so I was quite happy when I finally finished.
> 
> …And then we accidentally saved the first version of the chapter over the one I had rewritten. EVERYTHING was gone, despite my pleas and begging for MS Word to bring it back. No means of 'System Restore' or 'Restore Previous Versions' could bring it back.
> 
> You know those days where it's just really hard to write or really hard to draw something and your computer decides to rebel and pursue some kind of horrible vendetta on you FOR NO REASON? THAT was what this was one like. Oh and to put the icing on the cake? Two days ago we finished the final draft and then all my additions were /GONE/. Random parts of the chapter, GONE.
> 
> IT WAS LIKE SOME KIND OF TWILIGHT ZONE WHERE EVERYTHING THAT COULD POSSIBLY GO WRONG WENT WRONG. LOL
> 
> ANYWAY—
> 
> Thank you all so much for commenting on the last chapter! We haven't had that kind of feedback for any of our chapters so it really warmed our hearts to read it. We seriously sat down reading some of your sweet comments and felt so warm and tingly inside. I was so incredibly happy to find that you were all enjoying this. ;v;
> 
> I hope the chapter was interesting despite it being a recap chapter, we added as much new material as we could to help develop the characters. I hope it doesn't feel pointless, because we have good reasons for it. Think of it as the calm before the storm. We want the characters to develop as much as they possibly can so that things come together as seamlessly as possible.
> 
> Please do continue to comment and let us know how you're doing, comment and ask questions as much as you like. I cannot even express how much it would mean to me, to us, especially with the havoc this chapter wreaked on us. /sobs quietly in corner
> 
> (PS: To Maiden, I totally think Iwaizumi's muscles are to die for as well. ;D)
> 
> Also a very big thank you to Author M on this chapter, for beta-ing throughout the mess, for being a victim with me in this Twilight Zone mess, for helping write several portions of this chapter—FOR EVERYTHING. I'm so glad there are two authors because there was no way I could have gotten it done without her help.
> 
> As Author M said, we will be posting the next chapter sooner than this one. And oh my gosh, I'm so excited for it! We will be back in the Capitol! ;D


	9. Hinata Shouyou

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author [K]: Hello everyone! 
> 
> To those of you that read these author notes, you know that the last chapter caused us several problems uploading. We noticed, after a few days, that it decided to pull one last trick on us and delete a rather important paragraph.
> 
> If you read the last chapter early or haven’t read it recently, please refer back to the paragraph that starts with, “In that silence, there was a mutual…”, etc. It’s only a few sentences long, but as I’ve said, it’s important to the plot. We tend to refer back to little things in the story so if you could, please double check on that before taking on this chapter. X3
> 
> Also, I just quickly wanted to say that I can’t even describe the feels I got reading every one of your comments last chapter. I don’t know what we did right in the last chapter but the overwhelming support we’ve gotten is amazing. We were over the moon.
> 
> I literally finished writing this chapter within three days (!!!) of posting the previous (the rest of the time was just a matter of editing it). That’s how much your comments mean and motivate me. I literally melt forever.
> 
> So please, please, please continue to comment as many times as you like. It would really help on a motivational and encouraging standpoint especially with the next chapter.
> 
> Again, each and every one of you is appreciated and a big thank you to those who have recommended this fic! ;v; It made us very happy to find out that some of you have read this story over more than once. <3
> 
> Thank you all very much.
> 
> Author [M]: WEH thank you so much for all your feedback and support!! We're always happy to hear from you guys. ;3; As always, I hope you enjoy this chapter... 
> 
> PS: If you're interested, and have a tumblr, I plan to post story updates under the tag #whenyouwakehq !

**9\. Hinata, Shouyou  
**

_He isn’t sure what’s happening outside of his room, but Natsu is crying. He hears her now, hears her strangled voice increasing in both volume and pitch, all to the point where she is nearly screeching. He can pick up on the subtle sounds the floor makes as it bends and creaks beneath his mother’s feet as she gingerly kneels down to placate her daughter with soothing words.  
  
But despite all this commotion, he can barely concentrate because his head is densely foggy and he feels somewhat unsteady—like the world is spinning—though in reality he is lying inert, flat on his back in bed. There is an uncomfortable radiating warmth engulfing Hinata’s person and he can just scarcely breathe out of his nose.  
  
Hinata swallows, unsure of how to decongest himself because he’s cleared his throat four times in a row now and he had only succeeded in making himself feel _ significantly _worse._

 _He has his mouth slightly ajar, his chest lightly rising and falling in tandem with labored inhales and exhales mixed with an odd sort of dryness in his mouth, a scratchy itchy feeling inside of his throat.  
  
“I don’t _ want _him to be sick!” Natsu shrieks, clutching onto her small lion doll and moving away from her mother’s advances to comfort her. Their father isn’t home, he had left early to get a head start working in the mines.  
  
These days, Hinata’s father was doing that more and more often, though he did everything in his power to minimize the need for it._

 _“_ Natsu _,” his mother sounds like she’s reaching the end of her ability to deal with the situation. Her voice is taking on a low and weary tone, but is still clearly making a valiant effort to be patient. Hinata’s mother was known to be uncommonly kind and even more so: exceptionally persevering. She always supported her children in their passions in spite of their meager living and life situations. She was easy-going and it took quite a lot to make her lose her temper, but with the extra stress of Hinata being ill looming over her head she was quickly reaching a breaking point._

_“You know Shouyou can’t control whether he’s sick of not. You saw him after fainting on Monday. If Tobio hadn’t been there to catch him and been kind enough to carry him home…”  
  
He passed out on Monday?  
How long had he been here in bed?  
  
Hinata blinks, trying to focus his blurry and muddled thoughts. He doesn’t remember much, only recalls how everything suddenly blacked out. He remembers Kageyama’s face too. He was saying something, Hinata is sure of it, because he can visualize the movements of Kageyama’s lips as he sounded out the words. He can even remember how Kageyama’s brows knotted together in…was it concern?  
  
No, he must’ve just been irritated by something Hinata did.  
That must’ve been it.  
  
Distractedly, Hinata twists his head from left to right, attempting to reel himself out of his thoughts, grappling at his own thin bedsheets searching for any kind of hint as to what day it was. His head is heavy and he has to shut his eyes to try to distract himself from the dull throbbing at his temples.  
  
No avail._

_“But...” Natsu’s eyes are welling with tears and she’s shaking. She is trying to talk while sobbing, alternating between gasping and shouting, high pitched hics coming from deep within her throat. “H…He promised he’d …p…play jump rope with me yesterday!”  
  
Hinata can see the shadows underneath his door begin to twist and turn. He’s guessing Natsu is hunched over, clutching her lion tightly. He’d forgotten his promise to jump rope with her. He’d never forgotten a promise before. _ Not once.

 _“Natsu!” His mother reprimands. Her voice is as well increasing in both volume and pitch, in futile attempt to match Natsu. She is putting her hands on her hips, at this point, well beyond frustrated. “Your brother is busy, you know that. He’s always looking for things to help us, outside of school, looking for wood, hunting…”  
  
“But he _ never _forgets his promises!” Natsu’s voice increases in tone, with screams well above her natural voice, but very clear. She isn’t interested in what her mother is trying to tell her.  
_

* * *

_His mother is beside herself because Natsu has begun wailing again, tangled in wild sobs and mangled sounds. It reached the point where his mother had begun to nervously look around, making sure the windows and doors were locked and closed tight.  
_

* * *

_He can hear her movements and the sounds of her tugging at locks on the windows to make sure they were airtight.  
  
She probably didn’t want to be the reason her hard-working neighbors couldn’t rest in preparation for the day—nor did she want to be at the receiving end of complaints.  
  
Their family had enough on their plate as it was without having to worry about outside issues.  
  
Hinata sniffs, unsure of what was causing this sudden tantrum. Natsu was always fairly easy to take care of and she never caused a ruckus or made any kind of trouble. At least, not one he could remember in the relatively recent past. He narrows his eyes, attempting to conjure up a memory of the last time she threw a tantrum like this.  
  
He couldn’t come up with one._

_“But that’s what Mana’s brother said before… before he got sick and…!”_

_Hinata draws his brows together contemplatively. Mana. She was one of Natsu’s friends at school. Mana’s brother and she were the same age distance between Hinata and Natsu, so naturally they bonded, playing together at school. Hinata didn’t know much about Mana or her family except what his sister told him.  
  
Apparently, Mana and her brother were close, just like Hinata and Natsu were. Mana’s older brother never ever broke his promises to play with her.  
Then, out of the blue, Hinata heard that Mana's brother just suddenly got sick one day last month, just a regular cough and the usual sniffling and sneezing. Natsu was picking flowers (dandelions) outside of their house to bring to Mana as a ‘get-well’ gift for her brother.  
  
Two weeks later, he was dead.  
  
“Natsu…” His mother moves to kneel down again, making sure this time that she is at the same height as his sister to appear less authoritative and more approachable.  
  
She finally understands the cause of her daughter’s emotional outburst.  
  
“Shouyou isn’t going to…” She trails off. “He isn’t going to…”  
  
Hinata’s mother was never one to lie. And though he supposed he wasn’t _ that _sick to begin with, he knew his mother didn’t like to instill false hope into his sister or him, no matter what their ages. It just wasn’t the way she did things._

_Hazily, he pushes the blankets off of him.  
  
They were much heavier than he remembered because they were so thin to begin with. Slowly and shakily, he brings his feet to the cold hard ground. He rests his hands on either side of him, doing his best to keep steady before taking a deep breath, forcing himself up and trying to make his way to the door. The room is swaying and he can’t balance his feet to walk properly. The discomfort in his throat and the way that the room refuses to remain steady makes him want to vomit. Hinata continually trips over nothing and his head feels worse when he’s standing like this, but he is determined to try his hardest to reach for the door._

_“Liar!” Natsu screams, “You’re lying!”  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_

* * *

  _Finally, after several failed attempts, he gets the door open.  
_

* * *

_“Natsu,” Hinata interrupts, his voice gravelly and scratchy. “She’s not lying.”_

_His mother’s eyes widen, running to him as he sways and loses balance. He is leaning on the rim of his door, his eyes half lidded, but smiling as best as he possibly can at his sister. “I…I’ll play jump rope with you just as soon as I get better, okay, Natsu…?” His feet are feeling heavier and his dizziness is getting worse. He barely has the strength to force himself to stand._

_His sister is becoming nothing but a blur to him, a tiny mess of oranges, yellows and browns. “I p…promise.” He says, as steadily as he can. “I won’t leave so... so stop giving mom a hard ti…”  
  
He feels his hand slip and something scrapes against his skin when his mother reaches out to catch him. There is a slight burning sensation where the scrape occurs but he isn’t lucid enough to register the pain or care much about what it is.  
_

* * *

  _He is somewhat awake when his mother tucks him into his bed, sighing deeply before kissing his forehead.  
_

* * *

_Natsu is beside him, quiet, holding her lion. Her eyes are wide and earnest, glistening with remnants of tears. Her voice is small and shaky, but determined, full of gravity for the situation. “…You won’t leave?” She prompts, despite his earlier statements._

_Hinata is staring up at the ceiling listlessly, watching it blur then focus before his eyes. He doesn't like making his sister worry like this and he has to swallow again before he can answer her. “I…won’t leave.”  
  
“Promise…?”  
  
He forces himself to chuckle in this bleary state of sickness, looking over to his younger sister as best he can. “Nn…” He grunts, before shutting his eyes. “…I promise.”  
_

* * *

_.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“So are you better now?” Kageyama probes quietly, blue eyes focused. His voice is stern and his eyes have their usual harshness. His hands are digging into his pockets and he’s wearing that scowl he always has on his face. Ever since they started their ‘secret excursions’ they’d been spending more time together, figuring that they yielded more together and were far more effective as a team than they were as individuals. By this point, Hinata (secretly) didn’t mind their partnership. _

_Hinata nods, involuntarily sniffling. After a few days, he convinced his mother that he was all right, mustering up all his strength to not sniffle or cough in front of her. Luckily, he didn’t have a temperature, so when his mother reached over to feel his forehead, she conceded. He thinks he heard her mumble something about how Asahi had said that Hinata wasn’t contagious and that he would be fine as long as he didn’t overwork himself. Hinata fully trusted in Asahi’s work as a healer, so he supposed if Asahi thought it was fine, then it had to be._

_His mother even invited Asahi and Nishinoya over for dinner as a thank you for sparing the medicinal herbs. She always liked those two._

_“You’re still sniffling.” Kageyama deadpans, obviously not convinced. His eyes have softened, but one of his hands has moved out of his pocket, resting on his hip. He blinks slowly, midnight blue disappearing then reappearing beneath his lids as he exhales gently. “Maybe you shouldn’t—“  
  
Hinata bristles, shushing him by putting a finger up over his own lips. “Shh! I already played jump rope with Natsu earlier; if my mom hears you say anything about me being sick…”  
  
Natsu had been insisting to sleep with him at night too, but Hinata continuously came up with some excuse as to why she couldn’t. Even though he wasn't contagious, Asahi himself advised against Natsu sleeping with him during recovery, probably just to be sure.  
  
It was good advice, because Hinata shared the same sentiments. He didn’t want Natsu to be that close to him for that length of time until he was absolutely clear of symptoms. He wouldn’t let her sleep in his bed until he was _ one hundred percent _better.  
  
_ And he wasn’t.  
  
.  
  
..

 _…Still,_ not _being one hundred percent better didn’t stop him from wanting to leave the house. He didn’t want to be cooped up in his room anymore. It was boring—and it became_ so _consuming that if he hadn’t been let out, he might have reached the point where he wanted to pull out his own hair. He_ needed _to get out, feel the breeze against his face, scavenge around the forest. He_ needed _things to go back to the way they were.  
_

* * *

  _He even missed Kageyama’s infinite scowl (because yes, he figured he must have been_ that _sick).  
_

* * *

  
_Kageyama rolls his eyes, surprisingly giving in to Hinata’s pleas and requests. There’s an air of cautiousness in Kageyama today, something about him that seems gentle and careful. His body, usually resolute and emanating with resolve was hesitant and somewhat yielding.  
  
“Okay, okay.”  
  
Apparently Hinata had been blathering on without knowing it while simultaneously getting caught up in his own thoughts because the taller male speaks again.  
  
“Shut up, dumbass, I get it.” There isn’t an edge in his voice when he says that, nothing sharp or angry. He looks down intently at Hinata for a moment, narrowing his eyes in thought. On cue, that weird silence grows between them and Hinata (maybe out of pure habit by now) flinches at the attention.  
  
He’s sort of getting used to Kageyama’s gaze, but it still affects him. He isn’t sure why Kageyama’s eyes conjure up so much unrest within him but it stirs up his stomach, making it feel like it was flipping or flopping or maybe doing some other thing he completely wasn’t sure of. He supposes it’s because Kageyama is scary and his body and mind are reacting to that.  
  
But…it wasn’t like he was _ scared _of Kageyama so…_

 _“Go get your coat.” Kageyama says finally, though of course, with Kageyama, it comes out less of a request and much more of a statement. In this case, a very monotone no-nonsense statement._  

* * *

_Hinata can still sense that there isn’t any malice._

* * *

  _Hinata blinks, head craning lower to look down at his tattered sweater and pants. “…I can’t. It’s out hanging to dry right now.”_

_At this confession, Kageyama pauses in his stride, effectively causing Hinata to as well. They are both standing motionless in silence before Kageyama suddenly frowns harshly. Hinata pouts, ready and almost excited for the argument.  
  
Kageyama sure hadn’t changed after all these days.  
Not that Hinata expected him to, anyway.  
  
_

* * *

_…Not that he_ wanted _him to, either.  
_

* * *

_  
Hinata turns, ready to yell about anything and argue about_ everything _and_ nothing _—because that meant everything was_ okay _—that things were_ going to be okay _because he truly_ was _getting better and not still sick in bed dreaming about being outside.  
  
But much to his chagrin and surprise, Kageyama doesn’t argue, doesn’t even raise his voice. _

_He only clears his throat, stepping forward.  
Hinata purses his lips.  
  
“Then take this.” Kageyama asserts instead, breathing out in irritation while pulling off his own jacket. “I’m warm anyway.”  
  
Before Hinata can question or resist the action, he feels the coat splayed over his shoulders, the familiar, musky, forest-like scent tickling his nose. Absently and flushed in the face, Hinata puts his arms through the sleeves, zipping up the coat. It’s a size too big and it’s too long, almost up to his knees—but it’s warm and it smells just like Kageyama—and that’s oddly comforting to him. _

_“…What…happened when I passed out?” Hinata inquires almost inaudibly, tentatively looking up at the other as they began to continue their walk towards to the forest._

_“I ran into you after hunting. You were gathering some wood so we could cook what I came back with. You started not making sense and your voice started to slur. I saw you lose your footing, so I caught you. I_ told _you not to overexert yourself,” he scolds austerely, glaring at Hinata.  
  
Hinata steps back, glowering defensively at him, holding up two sleeved hands in a fighting stance. Kageyama’s sleeves were so long on him that the cloth covered his fists completely, making the action much less daunting than Hinata had intended for it to be.  
  
At this, Hinata glares, fumbling and muttering at the sleeves in attempt to quickly roll them up._

_Kageyama, already not paying attention, is silent for a minute before speaking up again. “… I…” He looks away, cheeks turning slightly pink while hesitating. “I… came to visit you a few times, but you never woke up.”_

_“…You_ visited _me?”  
  
Hinata is astounded. He can feel his eyes begin to widen, his mouth opening slightly while his brows twist slowly in confusion. Surely, he’d heard wrong. While it was true they shared an odd sort of relationship, he found it hard to believe that Kageyama would actually deign to visit him, even if he was sick. He couldn’t see Kageyama doing that once, much less more than that. _

_Or…would he?  
  
Kageyama seems to notice this, so he bites his bottom lip and rolls his eyes again (though to Hinata, it looked contrived.)  
  
What was going on? Was Kageyama catching something too?  
  
“Your… mom asked me to come for dinner a few times as thanks.” His footing shifts in a small display of embarrassment. “She insisted.” _

_Right.  
That made sense.  
  
Hinata was certain his mother would’ve wanted to thank Kageyama in some way, so he figured it must’ve been as Kageyama had said—through dinners.  
  
“Thank you,” Hinata replies awkwardly, leaning a foot back to tap it into the leaf-ridden ground. The words feel strange when they exit his mouth, but he knows that he’d be in a far worse place if it hadn’t been for Kageyama that day. He tries to look distracted but can’t help but stare at Kageyama through the corner of his line of sight._

_Again, Kageyama seems embarrassed, evidently not expecting the show of gratitude. He chooses instead to_ not _acknowledge the thank you, instead deciding to scold Hinata—good-naturedly but chiding. “Just get home before its dark tonight. You’ll get sick again.”_

_Hinata can’t help but notice Kageyama’s body language, his typical confident posture suddenly hunched, lips pressed together and arms hanging loosely at his sides, fingers fiddling in uncertainty.  
_

* * *

_And Hinata grins, seizing the golden opportunity.  
_

* * *

_  
Kageyama is_ never _embarrassed and Hinata can’t pass up the chance to tease him mercilessly for it._

 _“Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeh, even the great Kageyama Tobio can be embarrassed too? What’s with_ that _?"  
  
Kageyama stiffens at the sound of his first name, turning red and coiling inward, but Hinata grins cheekily and continues._

_“I thought you’d be cooler than that, always so levelheaded!” Hinata straightens up, standing as tall as he can, flattening his lips so they form a tight, stern line. He deepens his voice, attempting to scowl at Kageyama. He puts in the extra effort, using his own hands to push at his unruly orange hair to matt it down to bangs that matched Kageyama’s hairstyle. “’Dumbass, you’re always causing trouble!’” He makes his voice as mocking as possible, then pauses, clutching his stomach in a fit of giggles which steadily turn into full, whole-hearted laughs.  
  
Kageyama flinches and glares down at him, eyes narrowed dangerously, brimming with discomfiture. “What are you saying, dumbass—“  
  
Hinata purses his lips, pushing them out and making a sort of fish-expression on his face while waving his hand mockingly at the other. “How lame!” _

_“You—“  
  
Kageyama is reaching out to him now, probably to throttle him, but Hinata continues to laugh fondly, dodging the action easily before speeding off into the forest. “Bet you can’t catch me while you’re red with embarrassment!” He’s taunting, turning his head ever so slightly to stick his tongue out while the other sputtered in disbelief.  
  
Hinata’s thoughts are all jumbled in his head, with emotions piled together in such a way that Hinata does not notice that he ceased his sprint to stare back at Kageyama, taking note of Kageyama’s cheeks, still tinted with pinks and reds that stood out against his dark hair.  
_

* * *

_He is distracted by this for a few seconds, almost not noticing Kageyama digging his feet, sprinting off towards his direction to catch him, voice billowing with the wind.  
_

* * *

_"HINATA!"_

_Hinata is grinning now, running as fast as he can._

* * *

_.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Kageyama inevitably catches up to him (of course, Hinata _ is _recovering from being sick after all), taking advantage of a moment Hinata took to catch his breath from his sprint and his unrelenting laughter. Kageyama is scolding him, wrapping him in a firm (but careful so as not to render any harm) chokehold, muttering and yelling something that Hinata, amidst all his giggling and laughter couldn’t even bother himself to comprehend._

_Hinata can feel Kageyama shaking him gently, saying something about, ‘don’t run off like that, you’ll get sick again’ and ‘stupid, I wasn’t really embarrassed that time’.  
_

* * *

_His familiar, musky scent surrounds him once again and Hinata relaxes, drowning out his words.  
_

* * *

_He glances up, only to find Kageyama manfully attempting to suppress a smile.  
That _ alone _is enough to make Hinata feel light and happy.  
  
Hinata is _ still _grinning._

 _At least, he figures, he can bring some life into this town; bring some light into the lives of the people that he sincerely cared about.  
  
He can make his sister happy, keeping her promises and agreeing to play jump rope with her.  
  
He can make his parents happy, going out of his way to hunt and collect firewood.  
  
And Hinata can keep _ him _happy, or at the very least, distract him from whatever makes him so perpetually serious and angry—even if it’s only for a few, fleeting moments._

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
He doesn't remember waking up. He finds himself only staring blankly, hands folded over his stomach in such a way that his fingers were laced together; rounded brown eyes fixed up at the ceiling with a fierce yet empty intensity.  
  
He just had a vague dream of some sort.

 _‘It was more like a memory.’_ He thinks to himself, lips moving to state his thoughts out loud.  
  
He doesn’t hear the words as he says them because the words fall silent within the great expanse of the room.  
  
He doesn’t move.  
  
He lays motionless, letting his body sink into the hollow comfort of a soft spacious bed. 

Kageyama.  
The one Hinata left behind in exchange for a place in the Hunger Games.

* * *

It isn’t until he senses the gentle touch of light trickling against his cheek when Hinata finally peels his eyes off of the ceiling towards the curtained windows, fabric swaying lightly with colors glistening over folds now ambient with rays of sunlight.

It was morning.

* * *

Hinata sighs, rubbing his face with the palms of his hands in attempt to rid his eyes of sleepiness. He narrows his eyes, trying to divulge the memory from his mind.

His thoughts are still drunk with somnolence and light-headed bleariness.

His dream, that memory—was one of the rare times Hinata had actually fallen ill, when Natsu was so worried she resorted to throwing tantrums to rid herself of tumultuous emotions she had no idea how to cope with.

* * *

He can remember everything; can picture himself walking through those familiar woods after he had finally become well enough to be outside. 

He can sense the rush of cold air against him and the warmth of Kageyama's heavy coat encompassing him.  
  
He remembers how he felt when Kageyama told him that he visited Hinata and spent time with his family while he was unconscious, laying quietly in his bed.

* * *

Hinata doesn't know it, but he's smiling.

* * *

Now, somewhere in the back of his mind, he knows Kageyama was concerned for him. It makes him happy, though he’s not entirely sure why—because it was nice, nice to have someone that reliable to care for you and your family (even though _that someone_ was a jerk sometimes— _most_ of the time). 

He giggles at the image of Kageyama in his mind, the flush in Kageyama’s face and the embarrassment in his eyes as he fumbled with his hands in awkward hesitancy.

* * *

Hinata _also_ recalls the odd fluttering in his _own_ stomach as he watched.

* * *

These are the thoughts that somehow give Hinata the energy to roll out of the bed and begin his day.  
  
It was only a few days until the Games— and in light of everything _else_ —that memory wasn't such a bad thing to dream about.

* * *

They had been given three days reprise before the official commencement of the Hunger Games. Kiyoko was currently seated by him, noiselessly comparing outfit ideas on her clipboard, glancing up from time to time with that same blank expression adorning her face. She shifts in her seat, turning to hold up her small drawings, deftly matching the colors against Hinata and Daichi’s skin tones and hair colors.

Daichi is sitting aside Hinata with a pencil and paper, scrawling something hastily before scratching it out, completely unaware of their stylist’s actions. Hinata had gotten used to the silence, Kiyoko’s hushed vocalizations of _‘let me see how this color looks against your face’_ and the _scritch scratch_ sound following aside him as Daichi yet again crossed out whatever he was writing.

Hinata purses his lips, fingers pulling absently at a loose thread in his sleeve. He felt restless in this stagnant atmosphere. It was too quiet, too foreboding—especially for the early hour it was in the morning.  
  
He could hear the faint rustling in the room across them, sounds of Ukai and Takeda unobtrusively exchanging conversation as well as the anticipated ‘ _glug glug glug_ ’ from Ukai pouring more liquor.  
  
He nearly jolts in surprise when he hears a soft tap, the sound of Daichi plopping an eraser unceremoniously onto the table. Daichi had given up on using the eraser, irritated with the way sounded, squeaking obnoxiously at the paper—annoyed with having to wipe off the shavings—only to find the eraser had smeared the letters he’d already written. Daichi had reticently been at this for what seemed like hours and Hinata surmised that Daichi must have been strategizing for the Games.  
  
…Something inside Hinata was telling him to let Daichi do what he needed to do and just trust the other to inform him of any tactical ideas when he was finished.

* * *

What _else_ could he have been working so hard on?

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
A good half hour passes in silence (Hinata swaying sleepily in his seat, drifting in and out of consciousness) until Daichi finally speaks up, his low voice reverberating inside the room.  
  
That dumb fire place is in front of them again, mocking Hinata with its unnatural colors and ridiculous shapes.  
  
Hinata didn’t care if it was the most luxurious fireplace in the world, it was still _stupid_.  
  
“We should’ve been given more than three days.” Daichi mumbles under his breath, looking from the left side of his paper to the right. He has abandoned writing by now, starting to draw and chart out positions of strategy instead of writing long drawn out paragraphs.  
  
It wasn’t long after that when Kiyoko spoke, lifting her eyes from her pink rimmed glasses. “You were supposed to be given five days, not three.” At this, both Hinata and Daichi lift their gazes to match hers. She averts her eyes when they meet, biting her lower lip. “…But they decided to shorten the resting period because the citizens might get too rowdy.” She looks down at her paper, attaching it to her clipboard. “They think… the citizens will get too bored in waiting.”  
  
While it was true the Capitol needed to increase and maintain as much interest and anticipation in the Games, they still wanted to ‘take care’ of their tributes by making sure they were fighting in ‘optimal conditions.’  
  
That was how Kiyoko had worded it, as well as how Takeda had worded it.  
  
Hinata blinks, unsure of what to think. But Daichi only stares, with a look that is teetering between being speechless and thoroughly unimpressed. 

The more Hinata thought about it, the more it made sense.

* * *

What all this amounted to is the Capitol wanting their tributes to be in the best condition possible. It ensured that the Games wouldn’t get too “boring” in the arena with staggering starving tributes and over-exhausted minds. The game makers met half way, giving the tributes three days instead of five, _some_ reprieve but not ‘too much’, so as to appease the citizens and their growing lust for the Games.  
  
_That_ was the only reason they were given the three days. Not because of any human emotion, not because of any kind of pity or regret for throwing them into a death arena, but to increase the entertainment value.  
  
_That_ was what the tributes were dealing with.

* * *

Hinata is surprised when Daichi doesn’t reply. He at least expected a scowl, maybe something cynical under his breath.  
  
Hinata’s eyes flit from his sleeve to Daichi.  
  
It became apparent to Hinata after these weeks of getting to know Daichi more personally that when it came to the Capitol, Daichi had little patience and even _less_ restraint.  
  
Daichi’s opinion of the Capitol was clear, clear in the way his jaw would tighten at his words, the way his eyes became empty and then full of frustration—the way he reverted to an empty shell when he was forced to listen to Capitol citizens drone on and on in conversation with Takeda.  
  
Hinata had begun to notice all these cues from Daichi and it made him feel despondently happy (if that made _any_ sense at all), because it meant he was getting to know his partner and understanding or at least _noticing_ that he was uncomfortable.  
  
He found with each passing day that Daichi’s impatience might not just be towards the Capitol, but more a permanent feature in Daichi’s overall personality (though he appeared to have infinite amounts of restraint when things _didn’t relate_ to the Capitol).  
  
It isn’t that Hinata minds this facet of his partner’s personality of course, as long as Daichi’s frightening anger isn’t aimed at _him.  
  
_

* * *

Hinata exhales, staring lethargically at the wall in front of him.

* * *

Initially, the prospect of extra days before the Games excited Hinata. He wanted more time in the training arena, more time with Kenma and more time spent with Daichi.  
  
When he's sitting at the knotting station with Daichi, fiddling with a rope in his hands, making sure it was tight enough not to unravel, Hinata doesn't think about the other tributes— especially the more intimidating ones that threw their knives and shot their arrows with such precision and force it caused them to make loud grunts and shouts.  
  
He can forget.  
  
It’s the same when he's with Kenma.  
He forgets the reality of the situation.  
He can put it aside.  
  
Because of that, Hinata actually _enjoyed_ training. It kept his mind off the real reason they were there because it allowed him to spend more time with people he genuinely _wanted_ to be with.  
  
But even though the days were filled with some brightness that he could look forward to and enjoy—it seemed like he was almost paying for it later, with things becoming at least ten times worse at night. Hinata would often find himself tossing and turning, waking up in a cold sweat with his entire body clenched and tight—afraid—no, _terrified_ of his own mind and what it made the shadows his room become. He’d often jolt up from his bed, turning his head from side to side, frantically searching for the figures that he _swore he had just seen_ approaching him in his sleep.

* * *

It was at night, when he laid motionless, staring up at the ceiling with hands clutching at his sheets that Hinata hated the most.

* * *

During the night, there was nothing to keep his mind off his fears, no training or idle conversation that could keep the serious, more frightening things at bay. He wasn't sure what he disliked more, twisting and turning in bed for hours unable to sleep, or falling asleep only to jolt up—roused with the sensation of fear from a nightmare.

  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
There were times he would venture out of his room in hopes to tire himself out only to find Daichi sitting by the fireplace. He didn't care if he was already sixteen years old. It was easier for him to fall asleep with Daichi there, a comforting presence that he trusted implicitly.

* * *

Hinata was beginning to fear the dark, the stark emptiness of his room— like a child, helpless and broken.

* * *

 _That_ worried him.

Because he was _never_ afraid of the dark.  
  
He always looked forward to it, ever since Kageyama and he had begun their jaunt missions into the forests, acting as Kageyama’s decoy as they fought together to survive.

* * *

Daichi must have seen Hinata phasing in and out of thought because soon, Hinata hears the rumpling of papers being tossed carefully on the coffee table.  
  
“Let’s head out?” Daichi rolls his neck on his shoulders, shutting his eyes before rising. He looks drained, face a sickly shade of grey and nearly void of life. It isn’t until he turns, giving Hinata a worried look, that Hinata realizes that he’d been staring all this time.  
  
“Hinata…? Something wrong?” 

Quickly, Hinata stands, shaking his head at impossible speeds. His mouth opens before his mind can comprehend what he is actually saying.                                                                                                                                                                    

“Want to walk down by the water?”  
  
Daichi smiles, the gesture returning some light to his previously empty eyes. He reaches over, gently resting a hand on Hinata’s shoulder. “…Sure.”

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“The water” Hinata was referring to was really more like giant cement wall, charges of unremitting waterfalls seeping out of its edges in a harsh downward drop. Takeda called it a “dam” (Hinata thought he meant “damn”, but Takeda immediately corrected him, looking traumatized). He said, with flourishing hands, that it helped to supply power to the Capitol. There was a little walkway across it, where people could saunter down and enjoy themselves. It was complete with a small railing barrier for citizens to peer over and observe the surging waters below.

* * *

Hinata had never seen anything like it before and it both intrigued and delighted him.

* * *

  
After training had begun and definitely by this point, the tributes were allowed ( _encouraged_ ) to go out and explore the Capitol— no doubt to familiarize themselves so that the citizens could efficiently pick and choose favorites. It was also another way in which teams could garner one last chance to convince people that _they_ were the ones most worthy of sponsoring.

Hinata and Daichi went on some brisk walks in the morning (like they are now, before most tributes were awake). The two of them were used to being up early back home.

* * *

On each of the days they came down to the water, Hinata had been able to see and talk to Kenma again.

* * *

Their groups would always separate around the time Hinata and Kenma would cross paths, with Daichi wandering off on his own and Kuroo nodding at Kenma in noiseless near telepathic conversation (because _somehow_ those two were able to speak with only their eyes and movements)—as if Kuroo knew Kenma wanted to spend time talking to Hinata and that he absolutely wasn’t going to intrude or protest.  
  
At their separation, the taller tribute would often stalk after Daichi as a kind of ‘cure’ to his boredom—at first, smirking infuriatingly at him, grinning about winning a sparring session earlier that day.  
  
These would often end in repetitions of previous arguments, strained smiles and grins, full of…  
  
“Next time, I definitely _won’t_ lose.”  
  
Daichi always took the bait, smiling contemptuously back at Kuroo.  
  
And of course Kuroo, having won the fight for Daichi’s attention (because it was amusing and a fun way to pass the time) would respond—with the same cheerful yet equally contemptuous grin. “Heh. Next time, I’ll _still_ win.”

* * *

If they were _really_ into it, they’d clasp hands, as if transferring the competition to their hands to see who could tighten their grip the most.

* * *

That was how their ‘friendship’ came along. Daichi and Kuroo bonded in a weird, sort of begrudging way, a bond that might have been stemmed from a shared hatred for the Capitol.

* * *

Kuroo also had a strange affinity for the silver-haired tribute from District Fukurodani, interacting with him as if they were old pals that liked to team up and ‘train’ (torture) Daichi.  
  
Hinata wasn’t sure why their groups were helping each other, but it turned out to be a win-win situation.  
  
Because even though some of their strengths and abilities were exposed during these sessions, _all_ groups stood to gain something.  
  
Daichi was learning to attack better, block Bokuto’s fierce and powerful hits while Bokuto learned to defend himself by mirroring Daichi’s moves. As for Kuroo, both tributes would turn, attempting to land a hit on him since Kuroo’s blocking and counter-move ability was highly advanced. He could block a knife headed straight for his side, stand tall and deflect it with the most insane materials. He used a metal bottle once.  
  
Hinata scowled.  
  
_Bottles_ were fancy in the Capitol too.  
  
As with their training period, Kuroo continued to tease Bokuto (more in favor of Bokuto than Daichi (it was probably more entertaining for him) and Hinata _still_ wasn’t sure of the _real_ draw behind the relationship.  
  
Was it because it amused Kuroo to see Bokuto get flustered and emotional over teasing?  
Or was it because Kuroo genuinely liked him and did that –I’m-teasing-you-because-I-actually-enjoy-your-company thing?  
  
Hinata wrinkled his nose. He _never_ understood that approach.

But then he remembered how he was with Kageyama, pouting and defiant, when…

 _Anyway._  
That was _different._

Disjointed.  
That was how the past few weeks felt—engulfed in a strange sensation of stop and go. During the day, Hinata and Daichi would train, ensuring that they focused not only on weaponry and attacking, but basic survival tactics as well— something Ukai reminded them of almost every day.

Kenma had finally taken the time to show him how to climb to the ceiling. Hinata remembers Kenma’s face contorting to one of bewildered surprise when Hinata did a running start, then jumped so high that Hinata swears he flew, latching onto a high part of a climbing wall. 

" _Something new every time._ " They would hear Kuroo say.

* * *

The teamwork ended with their districts. _Aoba Johsai, Jouzenji, Shiratorizawa, Dateko_ —all the other districts stood away in intimidating cliques that only included those in their groups—a pair, no more. They sparred with each other to gain more training time but did nothing to help other groups. It was cold, more distanced; separate.

There was no chatting or getting to know other tributes.  
There was only a training period and attempted _sleuthing_ –conveniently timed observance of other tributes to glean for any exposed weaknesses.  
  
In hindsight, that was probably the smarter thing to do.  
  
After all, it was much easier to attack (and kill) someone you _didn’t_ know rather than one you _did_ because you didn’t have any particular attachment to that person. You could kill them, then put it out of your mind because they were just something to target and be rid of. Your mind could trick you into thinking that the person was some _thing_ rather than what they _really_ were— _some_ one _—_ who probably had a family and people they cared about waiting nervously for their homecoming _._  
  
An _enemy_ was probably more difficult to kill than someone you didn’t know at all.

* * *

Hinata had been secretly hoping to see his pudding-headed friend here and nearly bolted upon seeing that familiar sight—Kenma’s hunched frame, his neck craned down to—this time _not_ his handheld—but a watermelon, hands gingerly holding its edges.  
  
Kuroo stood aside him, languidly running a hand through that bedhead hair. 

“Kenmaaaaa~!” Hinata pauses in stride, looking back at Daichi for some kind of confirmation (not that he needed Daichi’s permission, but because he wanted to be courteous of Daichi’s feelings).  
  
Daichi nods lightly, giving him an encouraging look. “Go ahead.”

When Hinata reaches Kenma, he sees those two amber eyes flit up, a small smile quirking at the edges of his feline-like friend. Kenma looks up at Kuroo telling him that he'll be right back. Kuroo nods, leaning down to whisper something to him before sluggishly walking in the direction of a plush bench, lying indolently on top, stretched out and basking under the sun.  
  
At this point, Hinata is standing directly in front of Kenma.  
  
“He’s not upset, is he?” As he speaks, Hinata turns his head to look over at Kuroo again. The bed-headed tribute is pandiculating ( a small “ _aaaaaah_ ~” sound escaping his mouth), as his lips press together in content. 

“…No. He’s just tired.” Kenma shrugs, turning to walk with Hinata. “We’ve been up since three in the morning.”  
  
“Three in the morning?!”  
  
And he thought _he_ was up early, what with the sunrise creeping into his room.  
  
Hinata playfully nudges Kenma during their walk (the other boy stumbling in his feet at the sudden action, fingers gently tightening around his watermelon). “Are you tired too?”  
  
“Mm,” Kenma replies idly after regaining his footing. “But we…get up really early back at home.” He pauses, leaning down to munch on his watermelon. “…So we take a lot of naps.”

Amber feline eyes fall down to the watermelon, leaning down to munch on its edges. “…We have a lot of land to cover.”  
  
“Oooh.”  
  
Hinata isn’t surprised.  
There was something about lazily lounging under the sun that made it _so typical_ and _so_ Kuroo and _so_ Kenma. He had learned a little about Kenma's home, Nekoma—the district of agriculture. He learned that most people worked harvesting fields, picking and sorting fruits, farming crops for the Capitol.  
  
Hinata watches, eyes unintentionally narrowed. District inhabitants of Nekoma worked so hard and were rarely allowed to enjoy extra food.

* * *

Life was just as hard for them too.

* * *

Hinata leans his arms behind his head, continuing to watch Kenma munch on his watermelon unintentionally finding _himself_ getting hungry in the process.  
  
He decides to change the subject.  
  
“So do you think the interviews went well?”  
  
Kenma’s handheld is hanging precariously out of his side pocket, but Kenma doesn’t appear to take notice. He swallows, looking up at Hinata before looking back down at his food, as if contemplating his answer. Hinata steps back, leaning towards the railing that separated them from the edge of the drop down into a giant body of swirling water.  
  
It still surprises Hinata to find that something _that_ strong could be captured and controlled by the Capitol. He mentioned that a while ago—the first time he saw it— and Kenma (from a good distance away) stated that it wasn’t even a close match to the power they gained from Fukurodani, District Five—responsible for providing the Capitol with electricity.

Said he heard it from Kuroo, who heard it from Bokuto.  
  
…Not that the districts ever benefited from the Capitol’s power, of course. 

Kenma shrugs (only apparent by the slight upwards movement of his slumping shoulders), maintaining at least a few feet of distance from the drop. He seemed wary of the water. Kenma looks away again, as if envisioning Kuroo’s actions during the interview.  
  
“…Fine, I guess. The citizens seemed to like it.”  
  
“I thought you guys did really well!” Hinata adds, turning his nose up with a smile. “Our mentor and escort said we should walk around the Capitol more just to get our faces more familiar to the citizens.”  
  
Hinata shudders at the thought, not liking to be the center of that sort of attention. He didn’t enjoy the feeling of hair standing on the back of his neck, the feeling that made him feel like he was in danger or some kind of _prey,_ only to turn and realize he was _right_ —because a group of citizens really were staring and (obviously) sizing him up.  
  
It felt worse when they didn’t look away when he noticed.  
Of course they didn’t.  
  
Decency, privacy, these things weren’t a priority when it came to dealing with district inhabitants.  
  
“…Ours said that too.”

 “Are you guys doing anything specific? To get attention, that is.”

It sounded like a stupid question, but different tributes were willing to try anything. Terushima and Bobata would often work out near the square. Hinata wasn’t sure if it was a ploy to see more women or if it was to entice citizens to vote for them. It was probably both, because while they worked out, Capitol women (and men) would ‘ _ooh_ ’ and ‘ _aah_ ’ at their skills. Hinata rolled his eyes at the thought. 

“Not particularly.” Kenma says airily, leaning down to munch on his watermelon again. “…Kuroo and I are just… being ourselves.” He rubs his lips together, licking at the edges of his mouth for pieces of watermelon.

* * *

He must like how sweet it is because his eyes are more radiant, reveling in its taste.

* * *

For them both, it was a delicacy.

* * *

  
Kenma looks up at Hinata, eyes finally meeting his, before turning away at the sight of the dam. “…It seems to be enough.”

Hinata notices Kenma's wary distance and decides to push off the railing, continuing their little walk. He looks around, noting the early risers of the Capitol walking around, the pale color of the morning sky and the dampness in the air. He suddenly feels hyperaware, can feel his feet with every step they are taking, noting how the ground feels smooth under his shoes.

* * *

The streets were never this smooth back at home.

* * *

He looks down to watch his and Kenma's feet walk forward in tandem. 

All this time, Kenma hasn't appeared to be anxious about the Games at all. Then again, he's learned that his friend wasn't one to show his emotions transparently. All the same, Kenma's indifference made Hinata uneasy.  
  
It reached the point where Hinata had to voice this to Daichi.  
And Daichi responded:  
_  
"He may look that way, but he's in the same predicament we're in. Unless he's a complete psychopath, I have a feeling he's just as terrified."_  

Hinata grips one fist, looking up abruptly at the one next to him. He opens his mouth to speak, but immediately hesitates. His question ends up crawling out of his mouth much quieter than he initially intends. 

"Kenma…” He looks down at their feet. “Are you scared?" 

He is met with a fairly quick, crisp response.  
  
"A little." 

Hinata pauses. "Really?" 

"I've never liked water." 

Hinata groans.  
  
He didn’t mean _that.  
_ He was talking about being _here_ , about going into the Games.  
  
Hinata’s lips curl in frustration, now unable to bring himself to ask the question properly. He decides that Kenma is peculiar in his way of dealing with his own feelings and that maybe, just maybe, he was like Daichi. Neither Daichi nor Kenma wore their emotions on their sleeves, but that didn't— _couldn't_ stop Hinata from worrying.

"…It's okay, Shouyou." Kenma's voice interrupts, pulling Hinata from his thoughts. "…No need to worry."

* * *

Something about Kenma, something about Kenma comforting _him_ instead of Hinata comforting _Kenma_ , makes Hinata feel sick to his stomach. He doesn’t know Kenma’s situation, doesn’t know exactly what his life was like back in Nekoma.

  
He doesn’t know if Kenma has a family.  
He doesn’t know if Kenma has people that will miss him.  
He doesn’t know with certainty if Kenma is as terrified as he is.  
  
And _worst_ of all, he _doesn’t know_ how to comfort Kenma in the way that Kenma had so easily done for him.

* * *

He looks over at Kenma, someone he genuinely liked and honestly referred to as his friend. Despite Hinata’s fears, his mind and his actual countenance are polar opposites. While he thought about the situation fervently in his mind, outwardly, he seems somewhat detached to the situation because even as he speaks to Kenma—smiling and laughing and talking to him about all his likes and dislikes (“ _I hate how cold it is in the winter and how hot it is in the summer too!”_ )—it doesn’t occur to him that realistically, he and Kenma just _couldn’t._

Couldn’t be friends.  
Couldn’t go home together.  
  
Simply couldn’t _be.  
  
_ Because if one was alive, then the other couldn’t go home.  
Because they were born separate and because they were both reaped the same year.  
Because they were born in different districts, destined to be apart.

He doesn’t know _how_ to comfort Kenma.  
Because realistically, he _can’t.  
  
_

* * *

There were no acts of mercy.

* * *

One team survived, one team could win.  
No more.  
  
_Those_ were the rules.

* * *

“Kenma!”

Hinata lifts his head to the familiar voice, looking up to see none other than the bed-head tribute, raising a hand up into the air, his face emotionless. “The mentor wants to show us something.” Kuroo locks eyes with Hinata for a split-second and Hinata tilts his head, now able to face Kenma’s partner without (much) fear.  
  
“…Ah.” Kenma takes a moment to nod at Hinata and smile softly, before scurrying off to join Kuroo, stopping first at the bin to dispose of the remnants of his watermelon. “I’ll see you at the tribute dinner tomorrow, Shouyou...” He nods his head, blond hair bobbing with the movement. “…Sorry I made you worry.”  
  
Before Hinata can respond, Kenma is already walking back to Kuroo, who only nods at Hinata, seemingly good-naturedly before turning. They walk for a minute before Kuroo slinks an obvious arm around Kenma’s hunched shoulders, bumping his head affectionately against the side of Kenma’s. Kenma lifts his head to look up at Kuroo, rubbing his cheek against Kuroo’s shoulder, shutting his eyes as the taller one grinned at the contact.  
  
And Hinata blushed, because the two of them were always close and no matter _what_ the situation, Hinata could never bring himself to stare for too long.

It still felt too intimate for him to watch.

Daichi joins Hinata soon after this, putting a gentle hand on Hinata’s shoulder.  
  
And as if on cue, citizens popped out of nowhere, cooing over their new Nekoma favorites and watching starry eyed at the unfolding scene.  
  
_‘They really are beautiful, aren’t they?’  
‘It’s just like one of our dramas!’_

 _‘They’re definitely the ones I’m rooting for!’_  

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
And while Kenma flinches at the unwanted attention (and as Kuroo purposely leads them down a less crowded path to appease Kenma’s anxiety), it really _did_ seem like “being themselves” was enough.  
  
That love story took on a life of its own and it was working perfectly.  
Nekoma stood to gain on _every_ front because they didn’t need to do anything but be together.

* * *

He and Kageyama could _never_ do that, no matter how high the stakes were.

* * *

.

  
..  
  
…  
  
Before Hinata knows it, it's the night of the tribute dinner.  
  
“It’s a farewell dinner.” Ukai describes onerously, lifting a cigarette to his mouth. (Surprisingly, Takeda ignores this.) 

A _farewell_ dinner?  
That sounds horrible.  
  
Hinata and Daichi’s faces must’ve contorted to show their distress at this, because at his own words, Ukai digs his teeth into his cigarette, nearly cutting through the paper covering and releasing its contents into his mouth.  
  
“But what _is_ the tribute dinner?” Hinata feels his throat tighten at the question, dreading the answer. He begins hopping from foot to foot in attempt to expend his nervous internal energy.  
  
“They _feed_ you.”  
  
It makes Hinata flinch, curling up on his insides as he tightens his grip on the sides of his pants. He wants more clarification because he's confused and curious. He stops in his feet, lifts his head up high, fixing Ukai with a strong, solid gaze.  
  
Maybe if he knew more about it, he wouldn’t be this nervous.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
After a while staring incredulously at Ukai (complemented with a pout of disdain), Ukai frowns, bringing a hand up to his forehead, sighing heavily. Whatever the tribute dinner _was_ , Ukai clearly isn't interested in explaining it. 

“All the tributes come together and the Capitol holds a feast in their _‘honor’_.” Ukai rolls his eyes towards Hinata, kindly including air quotations when saying the word ‘honor’. Hinata furrows his brows in confusion, tilting his head. Daichi _sneers.  
  
_ Was he missing something?  
  
Daichi mutters under his breath, eyes glued to the ground as he bit the inside of his cheek.  
All Hinata could make out was _‘typical’_ and _‘mocking us’.  
  
_ Ukai nods in agreement, leaning back onto the sofa and stretching his legs out onto the beautiful hand carved table in front of him. Takeda again doesn't mind, probably because Ukai had socks on. The escort is sitting quietly aside Ukai, but he hasn't said anything to correct Ukai’s or Daichi’s mumbling. He's only stretched out his arm, picking at a gold accessory on his arm. Takeda doesn't seem detached to the situation, but he appears complacent.  
  
Almost… sympathetic?  
Or was it indifference? 

There is a short pause.  
Ukai relaxes his body, his tense posture loosening, eyes softly fixed on the floor. 

“…Sorry kids.” Ukai says near inaudibly, though Daichi and Hinata hadn’t said anything further.

* * *

Ukai’s words— his _voice—_ isn't condescending or laced with even the slightest bit of annoyance. He looks withdrawn, _solemn_ — as he always is when mentioning something about the Games.

* * *

“…It’s mandatory.” 

So Daichi mutters irritably under his breath, trudging off to his room to shower before he and Hinata have to meet with Kiyoko to ‘dress for the occasion’. Hinata and Daichi would never understand the point of having so many outfits for every single occasion. _One_ was more than enough.

Hinata watches quietly as Daichi strides away, turning back to face their escort and mentor. Ukai is whispering something to Takeda, something Hinata couldn’t quite hear. Their mentor appears tired but at the same time relaxed despite the fact Ukai seems to be talking about something that clearly strained him.  
  
Takeda listens on, nodding in understanding.

* * *

Hinata wonders why Ukai was always with Takeda.  
Ukai _hated_ everything that had to do with the Capitol.  
Didn’t Takeda _represent_ all of that?

* * *

When Hinata’s staring was met with nothing but silence—nothing now but the dying fumes of a cigarette that was put out in an ashtray and the _glug glug glug_ of a wine bottle, Hinata turns away, figuring like Daichi, he could probably use a shower too.

Might as well, before he changed into his _third_ outfit of that day.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
  
The tribute dinner is held in a giant room fit for a castle. The floors are some kind of luxurious wood (are they _ever_ not luxurious?) that seems to go on interminably—until they stop at the end of the room, where instead of a wall there are glass doors and windows— _floor to ceiling_ —leading out to a balcony that overlooks the entire Capitol. The marble balustrade only embellishes and enhances the view, shimmering with the setting sun.  
  
Because the sun is beginning to set, only a few beams sneak their way into the room, rays of light gracefully dancing across the dark stained wood.  
  
There is a giant, crystal chandelier hanging down the center of room, with Corinthian columns (Takeda mentioned that those complicated looking designs meant they were _‘Corinthian’_ and not _‘Doric’_ because _‘Doric’_ columns looked too simple to be grand—whatever _that_ meant)— that seems to stretch up to the skies because the ceilings were so tall that Hinata felt like an ant entering a cave, especially with the soft echoing drone in the room from the voices of the tributes that were already present.  
  
“Uwoohh…”

* * *

The room is beautiful.

* * *

Tentatively, Hinata takes hold of Daichi’s sleeve, keeping close to his partner as he tiptoes behind him. Daichi cranes his head back to look at Hinata, smiling reassuringly. Hinata mirrors it, feeling immensely relieved.

Daichi and Hinata walk to the very end of the table nearest to the balcony where District 12 sits. The seats are in district order, so District Eleven is seated right next to them. With five districts on each side of the lengthy wooden table, there will be a full table of twenty four at dinner.  
  
The table surface is empty—except for the candles flickering for ambience—because servers (avoxes) would carry the meals in.  
  
Entrée, Main Course, and Dessert. ( _Yes,_ even Hinata learned a few things in the Capitol.) 

Ukai even mentioned that there would be barbeque at this tribute dinner.

Hinata has absolutely _no_ idea what a barbeque is.  
He couldn’t even _guess_ as to what it was from the sound of the word.  
Bahr-bee-q?  
_  
What?_  
  
It sounds like some kind of method of torture.  
He really hopes it isn’t.  
  
So when he turns to Daichi, asking what it is, he is surprised that the older boy doesn’t know either, only offering him a soft shrug.  
  
“Maybe some kind of food or meat.” Daichi adds, mostly to help tame Hinata’s growing curiosity. Hinata nods, thankful that Daichi hasn’t also surmised that it was some kind of torture method.

* * *

For some reason, Hinata automatically defaults to asking Daichi things, even though they come from the same place because he always assumed that Daichi would know. The air of confidence that Daichi innately had just added to that effect. He had become something like an older brother to Hinata, unintentionally gaining the small orange-haired tribute's admiration and respect.

* * *

Hinata feels uneasy, twiddling his hands as he walks towards the extravagant dinner table. The tributes that are already sitting around the table are immersed in conversation with their partners.

They barely raise their eyes when the see the two district Karasuno tributes approach.  
  
Hinata hides behind Daichi, looking around for a familiar face, but there isn’t.

* * *

What he really means—because by this point _everyone_ looked familiar— is that _Kenma_ wasn’t there yet.

* * *

As they move to take a seat, Hinata glances at Daichi.

He can’t begin to express how happy he is that Daichi is with him.  
He isn’t _happy_ that Daichi’s in this _situation_ , of course not, just… 

It makes Hinata cringe to think of how _real_ that possibility could have been.

And though everyone says that people change when they’re thrown into Games, that the best of friends could end up abandoning each other—he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ believe that Daichi would do that.  
  
Not the Daichi Sawamura that everyone at home could rely on.  
It wasn’t in Daichi’s nature to abandon.

* * *

Was it selfish to be grateful he was paired with Daichi?

* * *

If he had been paired with a stranger, one that cared nothing about teamwork… he wasn’t sure how he’d be able to cope with the stress of the Games.

* * *

Would he be left behind, left to fend for his own and die in the Games?  
Would his partner turn his back on him?

* * *

Hinata is lucky, in the most unfortunate sense, because _Daich_ i is with him, even though he doesn’t _want_ Daichi to be here—because Daichi deserves better—so _much better_ than this.  
  
But Hinata couldn’t help but feel a little relieved.  
Because Daichi is strong, not only on his own, but as a companion.

* * *

And Hinata trained _extra_ hard so that Daichi could lean on him too.

* * *

While it was “merciful” for the game makers to allow for two victors (as long as they were from the same district), it wasn’t uncommon for teammates to forget themselves and turn on each other in the arena. The arena can and _has_ changed people.

That suspiciously sounded like something the Capitol would find entertaining.

Hinata suspects that maybe the rule wasn’t _merciful at all_ , but that it had to have an ulterior motive to it.

Why would the Capitol that sent it’s young to die in an arena for entertainment suddenly feel charitable? Nothing occurred without reason. After having spent numerous days here, that was one of the things he was sure of.

* * *

Hinata takes a deep breath, exhaling as if trying to expel the thoughts of possibly losing his sense of self in the arena. He didn’t _want_ to go mad, he just wanted to go home. He wanted to continue life as usual, play jump rope with Natsu, go on secret excursions with Kageyama…  
  
He wanted it all to stay the same, so that he could forget the Games, forget whatever he might see in the future.  
  
He could go on with his life and maybe never give the Capitol, the Games or the people involved in it a second thought.

* * *

Things would go back to normal.

Because they had to.

* * *

After a while of thinking that, it didn't sit right with him.

* * *

“Hinata, are you doing alright?”

Hinata blinks, suddenly jostled out of his own thoughts. Slightly disoriented, he manages a grin up at Daichi again, nodding fervently. “I didn’t think we’d be one of the earliest ones here.”  
  
Daichi nods, craning his head to look at everyone else present at the table. To his dismay, only the Careers were present, somehow radiating with baleful resonance even only seated. Daichi purses his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Yeah. …Neither did I.”  
  
Ever since the interviews, both Hinata and Daichi did a good job keeping their distance from the Careers. They didn't want to start any trouble and being around them made Hinata really nervous.  
  
Aside the Careers, only one other pair is sitting— the two tributes from District 10, Dateko.  
  
One was physically huge and daunting with short white hair and an unwelcoming face. The other was a tiny dark haired boy, who looked afraid all the time. During their stay, Hinata had only interacted with them a couple of times. The two barely ever spoke, very much kept to themselves and never bothered the Careers. This is how Hinata decided that they were probably, _maybe_ , good people. 

In any case, Both Daichi and Hinata were glad that they were seated at the opposite end of the table.

* * *

When the other tributes start coming in, Hinata notices Daichi fidgeting in his seat. He looks impatient, exhausted from the infinite hum of classical (that’s what Takeda said it was) music playing in the background. He is tapping his hands on his thigh, head tilted slightly to the side, staring forward, but not _really_ staring at anything. Daichi was blank, thoughts clearly elsewhere.

His eyes are far away, someplace that _wasn’t_ here.  
  
They had been sitting here for nearly an hour and not all the tributes were here yet, even though Hinata could already smell the aroma of food from the open door. He can feel himself salivate at the smell. 

“Dinner will be starting in five minutes.”  
  
Daichi heaves a long breath at this, as if letting out some internal pressure.  
  
Takeda was obsessed with sticking to the schedule, which is why they are here, _been here_ too early and _for too_ long.

* * *

At that moment, Nekoma came ‘strolling’ in, _strolling_ because Kuroo and Kenma just seemed to languidly step in as if they owned the place, Kuroo with his hands in his pockets, Kenma focused on his handheld.

* * *

Hinata feels Daichi move next to him, pushing himself up out of his seat. Hinata looks up at him in surprise.

“Daichi?”  
  
“Let’s switch seats. You can sit next to him that way.” 

Hinata didn’t notice he took the last seat on the far end.  
He nods excitedly, countenance instantly brightening as he pumps his fists. “Thank you!”  
  
Kenma’s eyes light up the moment he hears Hinata’s voice (Kuroo whispering something to him), before shuffling over to take a seat. He haphazardly shoves his handheld into his pant pockets.  
  
“…Shouyou.” His eyes betray his vacant, outwardly indifferent countenance because they’re glistening with obvious excitement.  
  
“Kenma!” Hinata is elated, wilding gesturing him over and even pulling Kenma’s seat out for him. He is bouncing in his feet waiting for him to hurry and sit down. “ _Geez,_ you guys were almost late!”  
  
He hears Kuroo scoff behind Kenma, not condescendingly, but as if he found what Hinata said funny. Hinata wrinkles his nose. Why was that funny?

* * *

Maybe Kenma and Kuroo always arrived to things at the last minute.  
They always lackadaisically moved from place to place, appearing to only move when they deemed it necessary. They also resonated with a sort of recalcitrant personality, Kuroo with his scheming tendencies and Kenma secretly working in the background.  
  
Hinata isn’t sure. Maybe he was making all this up from what he saw.

* * *

Kenma nods, seating himself next to Hinata, removing his handheld from his pocket and resting it on his lap. Hinata wonders absently where he got the handheld, but says nothing to voice his thoughts. Kenma immediately slumps in his seat, looking around the long table both expressionlessly and nervously (somehow the Nekoma tribute was able to conjure up both those emotions at the same time). “…We don’t seem to be the last ones here, though.” 

Hinata follows Kenma’s eyes, looking up at the tributes who had just arrived.  
  
Fukurodani.  
  
They look just as suave as everyone else, with the taller one, Bokuto, running a hand excitedly through his silver hair. He nods over at the table, smirking. “Hah! We’ve got the best seat on the table! Right near center!” The instant he takes a seat, he tilts his head, lips jutting out as he tilted his head in disappointment. 

“…Ooh. Looks like there isn’t any food yet. I was sure there would be with the smell.”  
  
Kuroo grins widely, having conveniently been seated almost directly across Fukurodani. “That’s because you're late. We ate all the food.”  
  
Bokuto immediately cranes his head up to look at Kuroo, eyes wide with surprise with his mouth hanging open in distress. “ _What?!_ Seriously?!”  
  
“…Bokuto.” Akaashi says quietly next to him. “Please calm down. We aren’t late. I made sure.”  
  
At this Bokuto simmers down, pouting over at Kuroo’s general direction.  
And _Kuroo_ , ever the charming one, gives the silver-haired tribute another brazen grin.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

In just a few minutes, the entire table is filled.

The lights suddenly dim down, exposing a projected screen flickering towards the Careers. The Capitol's symbol is displayed, then a face—the President. It is now that Hinata realizes they have not actually seen the President up close or spoken with him at all. 

He is an older man with pale skin and receding black hair.   
  
_This_ is the man at the top of the food chain. The man that may not have started the Hunger Games, but continues them.

All the tributes stare intently at the screen as he speaks. 

"Welcome everyone to the tribute dinner. Thank you for staying with us these past few weeks; it has been a pleasure to watch you grow together. Please enjoy as we treat you tonight, mingle amongst yourselves and do your best." He raises a slim glass of white wine. "Good luck."

The screen fades away and the lights become bright again. Suddenly there are avoxes—one for each pair of tributes behind their chairs with what appears to be the appetizer in hand. Everyone is silent as a bowl of soup is set in front of them—an orange dish with a drizzle of what looks like cream and pumpkin seeds and a side of toasted bread. Hinata almost forgets about how uncomfortably silent everyone had become after the President's message.  
  
He catches a glimpse of Daichi, whose eyes look like they are having a difficult time taking themselves off the avox helping him.  
  
Hinata follows his gaze and he realizes that it is the same avox that helps them up in their penthouse, except this time, his hair is down, more casual.

* * *

Black hair, parted on the right.

* * *

Daichi visibly wants to say something, because he is fidgeting and shuffling in his seat, hands restless and unsure, but oddly instead of speaking—he only lets out a hesitant _thank you_.

Immediately after, Daichi accidentally drops a fork to the ground, startling a few at the table as it sounded with a _clang_ once it hit the ground.  
  
Hm?  
Was Daichi nervous? 

Both Daichi and the avox reach down to grab it, taking about ten seconds (the fork must have fallen quite a distance) to rise back up to the table, but Hinata thinks nothing of it.  
  
The avox only backs away silently, joining the line of standing avoxes behind them. Hinata could tell Daichi was thinking about something, but before he could ask, he hears a smooth, loud voice. 

"Hey _Sawamura,_ " The purring voice of Kenma's teammate is difficult to ignore. Daichi snaps out of his thoughts, looking at Kuroo a little strained (instead of irately, like Hinata expected him to). "You alright over there?" Kuroo takes a sip out of his soup, but keeps his eyes fixed on Daichi. 

After a few seconds of trying to collect himself, Daichi glances up at Kuroo, who raises a questioning brow. 

"I'm fine, thanks." He then picks up a piece of bread and dips it lightly into the soup, ending the conversation. 

Kuroo shrugs, continuing to eat.  
  
Hinata decides to dig in as well, after watching his teammate start. He recognizes the taste—it's pumpkin with a smooth, nuttier taste to it. Hinata isn’t sure, but all that mattered was that it was outrageously _delicious._ One of his favorite dishes to have in the Capitol was a raw egg, cracked on top of steaming rice. It seemed so simple compared to all the extravagant foods he and Daichi have recently experienced, but _that_ alongside _any_ dish made everything much more… _Yum_.  
  
It isn’t too long until all the food is all gone.

* * *

Usually Hinata would be eagerly awaiting the next plate, but the President's message stuck in the front of his mind.

* * *

But there was a creeping feeling that slithered down his throat right down through his finger tips.

The President had spoken so casually about their stay, as if all twenty four of them were there for winning a grand vacation to experience the Captiol's luxuries. He spoke as if this was a sending off, a ‘farewell gift’ before they would be sent back home to their families to describe how amazing their experience of the Capitol had been.

But that _wasn't_ it.  
  
They weren't going to be sent home, they were all going to put into an arena to die at each other's hands. That was their grand prize for being reaped.

And as Ukai had so casually put it _, this_ was their farewell. 

* * *

.

..  
  
…  
  
He doesn’t remember much after that dinner.  
What he _does_ realize, however, is that it is the morning of the day before the Games.  
  
He feels more restless than ever, with lips puckered and hands holding tightly to the couch beneath him. The parties outside their balconies are getting louder and wilder with the citizens celebrating every last second until the initiation of the Hunger Games. They would dance, eat, _drink_ —in a trancelike ceremonial state, swaying from side to side just as Hinata was swaying _right and left_ on the couch in fear and anticipation—while the citizens below cheer and grin amongst themselves.  
  
Every time Ukai stepped out to smoke, _every_ time he slid the glass doors open, the screams and cries from the crowds below would reverberate and pull into the penthouse, permeating the surrounding areas— _like water rushing in and drowning them_ until the door was shut closed.  
  
The crowd’s voices all melded into one indiscernible heap of noises with the occasional _bang_ from fireworks being spread into the sky.

At this point, Hinata notices that Ukai spent considerably less amount of time outside, only there for a minute or so—the bare _minimum_ he needed to smoke— before retreating back inside in hasty, near desperate steps. The way his face masked itself—the way his entire body shed itself of emotion when he was surrounded by citizens and anything relating to the Hunger Games (Takeda being the sole exception) was painfully palpable. The differences were enormous in comparison to how he behaved within their company. It made Hinata’s imagination run wild, thinking about what Ukai must have gone through for his body to resort to complete shutdown during times like this.

 

* * *

Daichi would always look away, as if he tacitly already knew what it meant.

* * *

Hinata heard that tonight, the night before the Games, would be the loudest and longest party of all— apparently lasting until dawn and starting up again not long after its finish. He didn’t understand how people could celebrate the upcoming deaths of potentially twenty-four people— _twenty-two_ if things went “well”. 

He sighs in his seat, finally letting go of the cushions beneath him, falling back against the couch in a lifeless heap.  
  
He is glad it is at least still morning and that he and Daichi had time to try and relax. Thankfully, Hinata’s appetite remains the same, surprisingly able to indulge in as much food as his body would allow. Takeda is just as enthusiastic in the mornings talking about breakfast as he is talking about lunches and dinners (dinner being his (and Hinata’s) favorite). The escort looks as ‘stylish’ as ever and truthfully Hinata is beginning to think that the man might have slept in his outfit in preparation for the next day.  
  
…If he _does_ , it must be really uncomfortable.  
  
Slowly, Hinata glances at Daichi from the corner of his eye, fiddling with his hands.

“Mm?” Daichi asks softly, his eyes shut. As always, he and Daichi had deferred to spending time in the living room, with Daichi taking a seat next to him, resting his eyes and crossing his arms over his chest. Often times Hinata thinks Daichi is really asleep, and every now and then, he is right. Despite that, somehow Daichi inherently knew when Hinata wanted to talk to him. It makes Hinata happy because it meant their trust was building more.

* * *

He hopes Daichi trusted in him as much as he did in Daichi.

* * *

“D…Do you want to do anything today?” Hinata asks near inaudibly, the words stuck in his throat with a sort of grim finality in his voice. He didn’t _mean_ for it to sound that way. He didn’t like feeling like today was the ‘final’ _anything_. It feels like every other day.

…Was that _normal_? 

Daichi opens his eyes as the smell of brunch filled the air, turning to Hinata with a hesitant, but willing smile.  
  
“Do you? I’ll go with you, if you want. We can do anything.”  
  
Hinata pauses, wondering if he _did_ want to do something. It felt nearly customary to— to feel energized by the situation and _do something he always wanted_ to. Something inside him was nagging, pushing at his thoughts screaming, _yes, go, because later—you might not be able to.  
_

* * *

All the same, the nervousness of tomorrow seems to paralyze him and he coils up tighter than he ever has, hugging a gaudy pillow right up against his chest, pouting indignantly.

* * *

He thinks, in the back of his mind, that he wants someone to hold him. 

Daichi grins, ruffling Hinata’s hair before sitting up completely. “Do you want to go over our plan for tomorrow again?”  
  
This is Daichi’s way of instilling confidence in Hinata and it always works.

“I know it!” Hinata turns, proudly facing Daichi. He lifts his legs onto the couch, sitting crisscross as he meets Daichi’s gaze. “We’re _not_ going anywhere _near_ the Cornucopia, we’ll run as far as we can, hopefully within each other’s sights, but if not, we’ll find ways and set subtle hints and clues throughout the arena that only we can recognize to find the other.”  
  
Daichi nods. “Perfect. And?”  
  
“Scavenge the area. Look for food and water. Ration them as best we can until we find each other.”

* * *

It wasn’t a complicated plan, but once Daichi and Hinata had thought it over, it made sense. They figured that the more complicated, the more difficult to remember, the less likely it was that they’d actually adhere.

 _Especially_ with everything against them in the arena.  
With all those distractions, they’d be lucky if they could even _remember_ a plan.

* * *

Hinata shifts, slightly uneasy.  
He remains quiet for a little longer before speaking up.

* * *

“…You know, I never really watched the Hunger Games back at home.”  
  
(Watching the Hunger Games wasn’t mandatory but watching the post-interview with the victors (as well as the victor parade) were.)

His avoiding the Hunger Games screenings wasn’t because of disdain or out of some moral conflict (which was primarily Kageyama’s reason for anything Capitol related)—only that Hinata himself never found a reason to. He did glance over a few times whenever he passed by the tavern or in the reaping square, but after a few violent moments, he’d often turn his head away, pick up his stride and head back to do whatever else he needed to. It never sat well with him, watching that screen for too long.

“Hm. Neither did I. Not avidly, anyway. Watched enough to get an idea of what was happening before leaving.”

  
“…So it’s true that some people turn on their teammates? Why would they do that?” 

Daichi becomes quiet, contemplative of Hinata’s question. He shifts in his seat. “…Who knows? It could be to save the other from suffering.”  
  
Hinata frowns at that.  
  
_Save_ the other from suffering? Wasn’t that just assuming that the other wouldn’t make it? Don’t give them a chance to defend themselves, to see if they could survive together? That seemed completely ludicrous and it only troubled him more. He knew that Daichi would never do that, but what about the others? Would _they_ be that callous? Was he completely missing something? Was he being naive?

As if sensing his apprehension, Daichi continues.

“And the only other reason I can think of is that you wouldn’t have to share the fame and the praise. Maybe you could be the hero. I’ve heard that from the others. I haven’t personally seen anything where teammates actually try to kill each other up front, you’d obviously be ostracized by your own district if you did that.” He has his hand up to his chin, looking pensive. “I have seen them turn their backs though—as in, not watch each other’s back. There are times where they just run too, leaving the other person there to die. It’s all about self-preservation.” He’s shifting again now, to cross his legs.  
  
Hinata realizes Daichi is acting similarly to the way he did on the train, outwardly calm but yet restless in his own way.  
  
“I’m not sure if it’s on purpose or not, but a lot of it seems pretty callous. Not that there’s anything that _isn’t_ in these games.”  
  
Hinata bites his lip nervously, looking down at his thighs. “I remember glancing over at the television from outside of the tavern. I saw someone leaning down to bite someone—like they were _eating_ them.”  
  
Daichi responds with a weak smile. He knew what Hinata was talking about because he overheard Ukai and Takeda talking about it. “…Yeah, there are times where people get so into what they’re doing that they just snap, I guess. A person can only take so many traumas before their mind just loses control.” He lifts his hands, staring at his palms, sighing plaintively. “…The Capitol wouldn’t want to see that kind of person win though, so I’m sure the ‘accident’ happened right after what you saw. Killing everyone _including_ the would-be victor.”  
  
That’s right.

The victor had to be someone the Capitol at least _approved_ of to add to their hall of precious victors. Even Ukai, with all his drinking and smoking must have held some kind of aura to the Capitol citizens—or at the very least, be useful in keeping the Games ‘alive’ by being District Karasuno’s mentor indefinitely.

  
“An accident… Ukai said something about that, right? About how the game makers sometimes try to move things along by creating different obstacles?” Hinata suddenly felt cold, skin prickling with a growing emptiness inside him. In attempt to keep warm, he rubs his arms distractedly.

.  
  
..  
  
…

This action seems to stir something in Daichi, who reaches over to grab the throw blanket hanging off the arm of the couch, gently plopping it on top of Hinata.

* * *

The throw blanket is a vibrant blue.

* * *

Daichi looks away, as if separating himself from the scene. “…Yeah, that too.”

Hinata bristles, suddenly determined. His brows turn inward, mouth curving into a deep frown. He reaches over to Daichi’s sleeve, tugging him back to face him.  
  
“Hina—“ 

Hinata interrupts him with an unusually low voice. 

"I won't do any of that to you, Daichi." 

Daichi’s eyes widen, mouth agape in confusion and suddenly caught off guard.

“I’ll run faster than any fire or obstacle they try to make! I’m not going to give up—I won’t.” Hinata says firmly, pulling blanket up towards his body. Daichi—after getting over his initial surprise— smiles, comforted by Hinata’s actions and nods.

Hinata mirrors the action. "You can count on me."

“…I know, Hinata. Me too.”

* * *

The smaller one's eyes look up to meet Daichi's and a little bit of that growing anxiety inside of him fades away.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

  
The rest of the day speeds by quicker than Hinata ever imagined, with Daichi and him sitting at the dinner table, listening to Takeda talk aimlessly about the new fashions that were going to be released next month.  
  
“They have all different kinds of colored metal, sheeny hues, matte hues… I’m glad we’re the first ones who have access to the new fashions here in the Capitol.” He smiles happily at Kiyoko, who contentedly nods back.  
  
Apparently, metal accessories were going to be ‘the new black’ (whatever that meant) and Takeda was working on grabbing the finest clothes to accentuate them.  
  
“The detailed designs really bring some interest to a boring outfit.”  
  
“…It does.” Kiyoko responds. “Against the right colors, of course.” 

Hinata looks down at his food, first poking tiredly at the meat, then suddenly jerking awake, eating ravenously. He thinks maybe that he can keep his mind off tomorrow by eating, eating _as much_ as he possibly can. In his mind, there aren’t any consequences to overeating, not anything other than a trip or two to the bathroom (which inevitably would happen whether he ate or not).  
  
He hopes that it will fill him up with the usual excitement that burbled inside of him at the prospect of food— _real_ food—and hopefully help him _relax_ and sleep peacefully tonight.  
  
Takeda said earlier that in general, several individuals felt drowsy after dinner.  
  
Hinata relies on those words to clear his thoughts even though he personally never felt drowsy after eating. The times he and Kageyama returned from a positive ‘mission’, Hinata would eat _entire contents_ of food—feeling himself become increasingly exhilarated with more adrenaline than he had being a decoy. He felt hungrier after the meals, more restless and more dissatisfied.  
  
It was funny how that worked.  
Hinata never realized how hungry he was until he had the slightest bit of food in his stomach.  
  
Despite his personal experiences, he hopes Takeda is right.

* * *

It’s odd, because Takeda was talking much more than usual today.  
_Ukai_ was quieter than usual, if that was at all possible.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

It isn’t long until he realizes dismally as he shovels the food into his mouth that it only has the opposite effect. Every bite makes him feel emptier without helping to alleviate his anxieties at all. He shuts his eyes as he chews, losing himself within his thoughts.

* * *

Daichi and he were going to be fine because they were together. He didn’t have to worry, not yet. He could put it aside; put it away in some corner of his thoughts. He could delay; tell himself that everything was going to be all right because the Hunger Games started tomorrow, _not_ today.  
  
He would have tonight, because it was tomorrow.  
Tomorrow.  
  
These thoughts continue to persist in his mind as he eats.  
  
He could eat to those ideas, could lose himself in a mindless trance as he hastily grabbed whatever he could eat on the table.  
  
_Tomorrow._

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
It’s _midnight_ now. Hinata had been kicking at the blankets on his _too_ big, _too_ luxurious bed, reaching up to fluff the ridiculous quantity of silk pillows under his head—but he _can’t_ sleep. It was _too hot_ in his room, then it was _too cold_. His hair was tickling his face in such an annoying way that he wanted to pull at it frustratedly until it came out. He could feel the tickling of something against his face, then near his leg—but every time he jolted up to check—nothing was there. He would turn side to side, arm turning numb at his positions.  
  
No matter _how much_ he tossed and turned, he just couldn’t get to the point where he’d actually wanted to—or could actually _will_ himself to sleep.  
  
He thought he’d gotten used to some of his lavish surroundings, the warmth of his blankets, the softness of his bed—but it was no use. Even a full stomach couldn’t quell his uneasiness about tomorrow.  
  
He swings his feet over his bed, leaning off the bed to place them onto the tingling, heated ground. It startles him—(because he wasn’t expecting and still not used to the comfortable warmth radiating into his toes)—but he quickly relaxes, his body melting into a pool of exhaustion, eyes half-lidded and staring mindlessly at the door.

* * *

He pushes himself up, staggering towards it.

* * *

Noiselessly, he pokes his head out of his bedroom door, peeking into the living room, though his view is substantially diminished by the giant separating wall. Yawning, he drags his feet across to the living room, thinking maybe a little time outside would make him tired enough to sleep.  
  
He needed it.  
He _needed_ to sleep.  
Now more than ever.

He reached over to the fireplace, pressing a button he’d seen Takeda fiddle with several times prior. The fire gradually glints to life, dancing with an assortment of colors and making odd shapes every few minutes.

 

While Hinata remains adamant about his opinion (that it was stupid that a fireplace did that), _right now_ , when he didn’t know what else to do, it was nice.

  
Maybe that’s why the Capitol has so many stupid looking things. They didn’t know what else to do with their time and riches.

* * *

Slowly, he moves to the couch where he and Daichi often sat and slept at, pulling his knees up to his chest, resting his chin on them. He can see the fireworks persist outside the windows, various shades popping and morphing into shapes. Swords, arrows— _Hunger Games_ themed.  
  
The panoramic view made it worse.  
He was in a fishbowl.

* * *

Quickly, he turns away.

* * *

He is glad that their suite is sound-proof, because if he heard people actually cheering and celebrating like he _knew_ they were— he might just lose it.

There is a dreadful feeling in his chest, a sort of tightness and light-headedness about him. He is surprised he isn't completely nauseated. Hinata sulks, tapping his fingers on his propped legs. They have been here over three weeks and it still feels as though he was reaped yesterday. He isn’t quite sure what he is feeling.

* * *

Dread?  
_Sorrow?_

* * *

“Can’t sleep?” 

When he lifts his head, Daichi is standing clad in his pajamas and making his way over. Hinata grins, feeling comforted by his presence, scooting over to make space for the other.  
  
Hinata shakes his head, gazing back towards the fire.  
  
“I can’t stop thinking about tomorrow.”  
  
Daichi makes a thoughtful ‘hm’ sound before leaning his head onto the back of sofa, looking up the ceiling. The fire is making the room flicker in a strange, soothing and ambient way. Gently, Daichi nudges Hinata, nodding up to the wall, encouraging Hinata to take a look.

* * *

Absently, Daichi begins to make shapes with his hands to bounce off the light onto the shadows on the wall.

* * *

Hinata blinks, watching the shadows. A dog… a spider...flying birds… an elephant, even a swimming duck with a fluffy tail. Hinata smiles giddily leaning forward in interest, having never seen something like this before. He examines his own fingers, then attempts to follow after Daichi. His efforts are awkward and unsure, but Daichi leans over to gently shape his hands, showing Hinata how to move them.

* * *

Hinata laughs softly when he sees the shadow take appropriate place.

* * *

“…Koushi and I used to do this all the time.” Daichi comments, grinning kindly at Hinata. “We’d sit in front of the fire doing this for hours.” 

Hinata smiles.  
He would have to show Natsu and Kageyama when they got home. 

When they got home.  
_If_ they got home.  
.  
  
..  
  
…

Hinata inhales sharply—pleasant thoughts abruptly interrupted, but still smiling—though it’s become mirthless now. He finds himself gradually deflating, the corners of his lips turning downwards, again forming a small frown. 

Daichi drops his hands and the shadows disappear. He watches as Hinata collapses back into his original position, knees pulled up to his chest solemnly. The pillows beneath them bend at their movements.

Hinata remains mute and for a few extended moments with Daichi and him seated there in silence for what seems like hours.

* * *

The fireworks perpetually endure in the distance and the room is flickering lightly, mirroring the flames in the fireplace.

* * *

Hinata’s head is down and he can see bits of his orange hair covering his eyes.  
He clenches his fists.  
  
“Daichi…”  
  
“Mm?”

* * *

_He remembers standing with feet heavy on stage—on the day of the Reaping—breathing heavier than he ever thought possible as his brain attempts to understand what his impulses had caused him to do._

_He remembers uncharacteristically gentle words of encouragement followed by a chapped, tight lipped kiss.  
_

_He remembers seeing the Capitol from the train for the first time. Tall, shiny buildings, bright like mirrors reflecting the sun, a feeling of heavy apprehension as they step off the train.  
_

_He remembers the courage bubbling inside of his chest when he feels the warmth and pressure of Daichi's fingers as they stood proud for their District, for the people they cared about back home.  
_

_He remembers being able to gather his thoughts enough to show Tanaka Saeko—to show the_ Capitol _—_ _just how much fire he had in him, jumping higher than expected, sweaty palms outstretched, feet in the air, bursting into brilliant flames._

 

_He remembers the feeling of exhilaration as he lands and looks out at the roaring audience._

* * *

Hinata clenches his fists, shutting his eyes tightly.

* * *

_He remembers dark, sleepless nights, trying to keep away from thoughts of the Games, watching Daichi's face as he speaks of his home.  
  
_

_He remembers the times when he found himself lost in thought while at the plant station with Kenma. Curious, amber eyes staring at him, asking without saying a word, if he was all right._

* * *

He stares forward, watching as soundless fireworks the night before the Games begin. He finds himself unable to fight off something that he was somehow able to look away from—for the most part—his entire stay here.

* * *

It’s at this moment that he _finally_ comes to terms with how he feels _—_ and what exactly he is afraid of.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“…I’m scared of dying.” 

Daichi hesitates before opening his mouth. He ceases the motion, ultimately deciding to say nothing. Instead, he leans over to Hinata, wrapping an arm around him, in a comforting, supportive gesture. Hinata lets out a slow, deep sigh, small hands fidgeting with themselves.  
  
It's happening tomorrow and he doesn't want to be here.  
He wants to go home.

* * *

It isn’t for a few more minutes until Daichi replies.

* * *

“…Yeah.” He answers belatedly. “Me too.”  
  
“You too?” Hinata repeats almost inaudibly, less in the tone of a question, but more hesitantly, in a comfort-seeking, sympathetic way.  
  
“Me too.”  
  
Hinata shifts, leaning into the other, feeling calmer in Daichi's hold. He looks contemplatively into the fire, his facial expressions going from nervous to solemn. Again, silence follows before Hinata decides to speak.  
  
“…I want to stay the same.”  
  
“The same?”

* * *

The same, as if nothing happened.  
As if nothing _will_ happen.

* * *

“I…I’ve lived in the district my whole life… but… I sort of got used to it.” Hinata is distractedly playing with the ends of his sleeves, pulling at the edges until the threads separate at the hem. He pulls at the twisted threads, shutting his eyes and letting out a shaky breath. “I thought maybe…it was normal, being reaped.”

* * *

The thread snaps as he pulls it off.

* * *

“It was just…part of life, even though I didn’t understand why the Capitol had to be so cruel. I hated the peacekeepers; I hated them for putting us through so much.” His eyes remain shut. “But… I thought… that’s just the way things were. That the generations before us had done something bad and we were just dealing with the consequences."

* * *

It seems that Daichi understood.  
There are no traces of disappointment in his tanned, chiseled face.

* * *

“…But it shouldn’t, right? People… shouldn’t have to live that way _anywhere._ ” His complacency with how their district had been treated bothered him, especially now knowing just how well the Capitol had been living compared to how _they_ were living back at home. He is briefly reminded of Kenma and Kuroo, and how he learned things back in District 11 weren't the best for them either.

 Hinata lifts his hands up, releasing the piece of cloth between his fingers. He straightens in his seat, attempting to again make a few more shadow puppets to calm himself.

* * *

He smiles slightly when Daichi joins him, making a wolf to chase after his rabbit.

* * *

“And now… with everyone cheering outside… when we’re all about to…” He trails off, gritting his teeth. Inside, he can feel his chest continue to tighten, his breath hitch in this throat. His body is on edge, busy with thoughts and anxieties on the inside but frozen with fear.

  
As he speaks, he searches for what to say, but he hopes Daichi feels it.  
  
He is hunched over into Daichi even more now, curling up his feet. He wonders if Daichi thinks he’s being stupid or if Daichi will finally break his silence and inform him that they can’t afford this kind of uncertainty hours before the start of the Hunger Games.

* * *

But Daichi says nothing.  
So Hinata continues.

* * *

  
“I always thought I could kind of… bring some light into the district.” The fireplace has switched colors, now a soft blue, shaped into falling stars. “… I thought… at least, I could make the people I cared about forget… even for a little—forget how hard everything was. I could make my parents happy.” His eyes laze back towards the fireplace, as stars begin to clump on top of each other at the bottom of the fireplace before dissolving into soft embers, glistening and twinkling in soft ambient colors. “…I liked making sure Natsu was happy… Could even make Ka…”  
  
He trails off, but Daichi knows who he is alluding to.  
.  
  
..  
  
“…I don’t want Natsu to look at me and be afraid of me. I want to be the same person people at home remember me as. I want the Capitol to know... that I won't lose myself while playing their stupid game."

He takes a breath, emphasizing his point, repeating himself. “…I won’t become a monster.”  
  
He pauses again.

"If... If I die, then it'll happen my way."

* * *

Finally, he can hear Daichi’s soft voice resonate within the room.

* * *

  
“….Will you kill anyone?”  
  
There isn’t anything in Daichi’s voice that suggests disappointment. It’s not aggressive in any way, not pressuring Hinata to become some sort of blood-thirsty killer.  
  
Rather, Daichi is quiet, reserved and waiting for the other to elaborate.  
  
“…I guess I…” Slowly, Hinata clenches his fists. “I don't know... I want to avoid it, if possible. They're not going to make me do it. We’re more than that. We’re more than just something for the Capitol to bet on.” Hinata hesitates, then looks up at Daichi. “ _We're human too_... a…aren’t we?”                            

“We are.”  
  
“But the citizens—“  
  
Daichi tightens his grip on Hinata, squeezing him reassuringly. “We are.” 

Daichi’s voice is resolute and finally, Hinata feels calm. His heart may feel like it's pounding profusely at his rib cage ~~,~~ his hands may be clammy and he may still feel cold, cold all the way down into his toes—  
  
But at _this_ moment, he feels alright. He’s alright— fine enough to sense the overwhelming exhaustion pass over him because at least _one_ person understands.  
  
If he died tomorrow, he’d know that _one person_ understood how he felt about all this. He’d been able to say what he wanted at this exact instant. And even though there were so many other things left unsaid and hanging— for now, it was enough.

* * *

Sighing, he shuts his eyes, turning so his face was against Daichi’s shoulder. The last thing he remembers is feeling a tender hand rest at the top of his head before finally succumbing and falling into a deep slumber.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

To his dismay (because part of him didn’t want to wake up at all), he wakes early the next morning in his room, the feeling of the sun’s rays lightly touching his face while he lays tucked into his bed, warm with the blankets encompassing him. Hinata rolls over on his side, attempting to block out the sun and delay time as much as he possibly could. He thinks, in his sleepy haze, that Daichi must have brought him back in sometime after their talk last night before his eyes begin to flutter down to ease back into slumber again.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

  
Then his eyes shoot open—and he feels his body jolt, like a wave of electricity had just spurt through his body— a sense of uneasiness taking over him as the sun continues spills into the windows, filling his room completely. His toes curl in distaste.  
  
Today. 

His chest is overwhelmed with the sensation of anxiety and he curls into himself for comfort.

 _Today_ is the beginning of the Hunger Games. 

He can hear some indistinct rustling in the kitchens, probably beginning to prepare breakfast. Hinata grimaces when a faint aroma of pancakes, waffles, ham, bacon, every kind of breakfast food possible—that assaults the interior of his room.  
  
Were they cooking _everything_?  
  
It instantly makes him gag, nauseated from such a pleasant but strong smell.  
  
He wants to vomit, feeling too sick to his stomach and much too edgy to even _think_ about eating. There is a dull aching feeling in his head and he can feel his body wrench away from the smells, continually gagging before pulling the sheets over his head to block out the entire world.

* * *

As long as he _could_ , he would block it out.

* * *

He can hear people speaking, the faint murmur of their conversations that seem amplified to him—even though the voices are barely above a whisper. He can feel himself begin to shake but fortunately— is able to stop himself by pulling the thick covers over his head when a familiar voice rings in his head. 

* * *

_“I want to yell at you for taking my place.”  
_

* * *

This was happening because _he_ volunteered.

* * *

_“And as much as I want to smack you for it…”  
_

* * *

Because he _chose_ to be here.

* * *

_“…I know doing that won’t change your mind.”_

* * *

Because him being here made Kageyama _safe._

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_“So good luck out there, alright?”  
_

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

When he finally exits his room, Takeda is seated at the table, dressed in a simple cable-knit sweater patterned in odd, abstract ways— warm beige, with off-center metal clasps to mimic a zipper. He has red pajama pants on and fluffy polka-dotted slippers. His hair is a pretty light mint color today, the tips dyed to a darker forest green. Ukai sits near him, already drinking.

* * *

Everything was _normal_.

* * *

Everything was _normal_ , save for the fact that he and Daichi would soon be thrown into a killing arena. His arms instinctively wrap themselves around his stomach.

  
Today.

“Hinata,” Daichi says gently, munching on a bit of toast. Hinata jumps, having not noticed Daichi there, before moving to quickly take a seat near him. He’s still feeling nauseated, too ill to take a bite—when Takeda, who had been unnaturally quiet that morning, finally spoke. 

“Hinata…” He says concernedly, eyebrows turning lightly inward. “…It would probably be best for you to eat.”  
  
Before Hinata can respond, Daichi pitches in, nudging him lightly. “Go to the bathroom if you need to, if you feel sick. But… he’s right. You need to eat as much as you can.” He pauses for a moment, looking down at Hinata, giving him a tight smile. Daichi then puts a couple slices of toast on Hinata's plate. "That will help settle your stomach a little."

Hinata pokes at his meal, trying his best to take their advice.  
  
Hinata takes a bite out of the toast and chews very slowly, mostly to avoid being sick. They didn’t know when they were having another meal— or if they were going to have another meal ever— _period._ Was he ready for the arena? Was Daichi? He tried going through all the edible plants he had studied in his head, but it was quickly overridden by dread.  
  
Since the time he volunteered at the Reaping, Hinata absolutely loathed feeling this way.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Soon they are walking, soft echoes bouncing from side to side from steady strides inside an extensive, winding metal corridor. There are no signs of life, no windows to signify the time of day and no colors adorning the halls. There is only a cold vacant tunnel dyed a deep steel grey with a person standing at the end of it wearing a straight, unfeeling face. She is holding what looks to be a cross between a gun and a giant syringe in her hand and she approaches them emotionlessly when they are near enough.  
  
“Lift your arm.” She commands. 

Daichi is the first to respond because Hinata flinches at the austerity of her voice. She pulls the device above Daichi’s forearm, submerging a large chunky metal piece deep within Daichi’s flesh. Other than a small wince, Daichi makes no sounds of protest.  
  
“This is your tracker.” She states in explanation with a monotone voice. She turns her head, glancing at Hinata—the glance being the only indication he received to _hurry up_ and put out his arm.  
  
When Hinata doesn’t move quickly enough, she forcibly grabs his arm, submerging the tracker so far in his skin that Hinata can feel it hitch and pull inside of his flesh. She narrows her eyes at this, turning and twisting it into Hinata’s arm readjusting it until it is perfectly situated.  
  
Hinata hisses in discomfort. 

He stares at his arm, throbbing painfully at the insertion of the foreign object. Gingerly, he touches it with the pads of his fingers, then winces, hands immediately pulling back as if burned. It was tender to the touch, already beginning to bruise, staining his pale skin with hues of reds, blues and purples.

“Head down to the end of the corridor to meet your stylist. There you will be dressed in your final outfit for the arena.”  
  
Final. 

Hinata decided he hated that word too. He frowned, looking over at Daichi’s forearm. There is a small trickle of blood where the device had entered, but other than that, nothing. Daichi is staring forward stoically, standing straight with an unreadable masked expression on his face.  
  
Hinata is the opposite, already ( _has been_ ) curling up in dread.  
  
…Either Daichi wasn't completely terrified, or he is _incredibly_ good at hiding it.

* * *

When he and Daichi turn and enter the small room, Kiyoko is sitting there, in a simple black track jacket and black jeans, standing upon their entrance.

She nods at them, forcing a smile. It isn’t reciprocated, because Hinata isn’t properly able to fully form one. So instead, he musters up something between a smile and a grimace instead. He figures he must look sick, but Kiyoko understands.

“You’ll be wearing these.” She turns, motioning towards the clothing, brandishing a dainty hand towards the pile. “A waterproof jacket, with a base layer shirt that has thermal reflective technology. Wicking technology as well.”  
  
Hinata squints his eyes, confused. He can barely remember what he had for breakfast; let alone whatever she just said. He was definitely trying, though, because if this information was important and he wasn’t listening or taking it in properly, he was sure to be dead—quicker than he ever anticipated.  
  
“What?” He hears himself say despairingly though he doesn’t recall consciously saying it.

* * *

He is clenching his fists in frantic attempt to clear his mind.

* * *

“It’ll help regulate your body temperature, reflect heat back to you. You’ll be able to stay warmer, especially during the night. In light of the strenuous activity you’ll be doing… this fabric will prevent and wick away any excess moisture on your bodies. You won’t want to be soaked to the bone. It also has incredible flexibility—" She glimpses at Hinata, "...it won’t wear with your movements, to an extent.” She leans down to pick up the shirts, handing it to them.

  
“To an extent?” Daichi raises a brow, holding the fabric in his hands.  
  
Hinata understood why Daichi looked like that.  
Why have something if it’s not going to work in the first place?  
  
“…Obviously it’ll wear down _eventually_ , depending on how strenuous that activity is and how long you’re in the arena.” 

When Hinata takes it, he can see that feels as smooth as butter, much like the sheets in his stupid, overly fancy bed. He has a flash of lucidity while inspecting the fabric in his fingers, a small sliver of himself finally appearing through his anxious shell.  
  
“Eeeeh, all that made it sound like it would be really bulky and uncomfortable but—it’s actually pretty light weight!” 

Kiyoko nods. “The jacket on top is thicker. Because it is provided, I imagine there will be a need for it as well. The arena may have some sort of weather that’ll require its use.” Hinata stares at the thicker jacket in his hands. He’d never had a jacket this warm in his life—and something told him that the arena wouldn’t be nearly as cold as the winters they experienced in Karasuno. “The emblem of your district is located on the sleeve. A black feather, of course. District Number, 12, on the back.” She is leaning down, picking up their boots. “Waterproof, fully insulated combat boots.” She lifts up the soles to show Hinata and Daichi. “Incredible traction.”

Hinata is glad to see that they only reach up to the mid-shin and no higher. He didn’t like his feet feeling trapped, especially since he relied heavily on his agility. Then again, Hinata didn’t know clothes could do this; reflect a person’s heat back at their bodies… wick away moisture...  
  
Usually, when he wanted to keep warm, he’d just add another layer over his clothing—if he _had_ another layer available to put on.  
  
“Your pants.” She holds them up. Hinata thinks they look like normal cargo pants and he’s grateful for that. He didn’t want to have to think about anything else. Though he and Daichi had begun to like Kiyoko, her words were mostly going in one ear and out the other. For Hinata, at least. The other looked like he was actually paying attention.  
  
“They have ample pockets for you to use.”  
  
“Same technology as the others?” Daichi is examining the fabric, running his fingers down the material, opening and closing the pockets before looking up at her. Yes, he was _definitely_ paying attention.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
He nods. “Thank you, Kiyoko.”

“Yeah, t…thanks, Kiyoko!” Hinata is becoming so nervous that he is fidgeting. He can feel his lips trembling with every spoken word. Daichi and he will be putting on these suits, and then that was it.  
  
It was the start of the Hunger Games.

Kiyoko pauses briefly to look at the both of them, she doesn't say _"you're welcome"_ or _"no problem"_. She nods again, pointing to two, rectangular metal dressing units inside the room. “Please change inside. I will be here when you are done.”

* * *

Daichi is the first to finish, and when Hinata exits the fitting room, Daichi is moving his limbs investigatively, as if weighing the mass of the fabric, twisting his body to see just how flexible the clothing was. Hinata had taken much longer than expected, his hands shaking so much he had trouble dressing himself and undoing the clothes he had on prior.

  
“Feels almost like nothing.” Daichi remarks, glancing up at Hinata. “These shouldn’t strain your agility. Even though these boots look heavy, they step lightly. Does it feel the same to you?”  
  
Hinata nods shakily, cowering. His hands pull a little at the fabric and he tries halfheartedly to twist and turn in his clothing as well. 

Everything— _every_ emotion beginning to hit him all at once. The reality of the situation is falling _hard,_ suffocating him. “Y-Yeah!”  
  
Kiyoko steps forward.  
  
“You’ll be separated into two different rooms. The game maker doesn’t want two tributes from the same districts to be anywhere near each other during the start of the Games.” She blinks, wearing a gaze with a sad smile on her face. “They think it makes it too easy. You have twenty minutes. The moment you hear the bell…” She turns, facing Daichi. “…When you hear that bell, I’ll need you to enter that room. The room is an exact mirror image of this one and there will be a glass-like tube inside it, just like this one.”  
  
She motions towards the aforementioned object in the current room.

And Hinata stares at it, having not seen it when he entered.  
  
Was that _always_ there?  
  
He grimaces at the revelation that he and Daichi are going to be separated, feeling his hands become icy and clammy as they open and close uncomfortably. Was he so nervous that he couldn’t see such an obvious object in the room?  
  
…He desperately needed to shake all of this off. 

“H-How are we supposed to get in that?” Hinata asks apprehensively, stepping back in trepidation.  
  
“The outline of a door will appear, etched onto the glass. Once you step close enough, the glass inside the outline will slide open, allowing for entrance.” Kiyoko explains quietly, looking up at them in small intervals. As she talks, she adjusts their clothing here and there. She even makes sure their shoe laces are tied tightly. “There will be a count, ten, nine…and so forth, to signify your time to enter it.” She looks hesitant to continue. “…The door will close off when you enter. You’ll be slowly lifted up into the arena. Once you are on the platform…” 

“You’ll be in the arena.” Ukai interrupts, taking a long swig from his cigarette. Hinata yips at his entrance, effectively stunned by his sudden appearance. It takes Hinata a few moments to regain composure since he is so full of frantic energy, so he steps side to side, attempting to burn all the nervous energy off while rubbing his hands together. Maybe he’d be calmer after doing this.

* * *

Daichi puts a strong hand on his upper back in effort to calm him.

* * *

Ukai does not appear to notice, but his eyes look solemn and far away. Before he speaks, he looks at the both of them. “You will have sixty seconds before start. They’ll count down—use that time wisely. Remember what we’ve talked about. Look at your surroundings and remember to head for shelter and look for water. You both have your plans, you’ve discussed it together.” He exhales, before continuing. “I’ve said it before, but I’m going to say it again. Do _not_ head for the Cornucopia. The Careers will be waiting; it’ll be a blood bath.” He stops, probably trying to emphasize his point. “That _isn’t_ your game, it’s theirs.” He is looking away by this point, twirling the cigarette between his index and middle finger. He squints his eyes in thought, pursing his lips. Then he adds, seemingly nonchalant: “Ah, and don’t try to step off the platform early, they’ll blow you up.” 

Hinata makes an internal sound of surprise and terror, hunching and shaking uncontrollably. 

At this, Ukai sighs heavily, eyeing them both. He lays the cigarette between his teeth, then leans out to grasp them both on the shoulders, with Hinata with his left and Daichi with his right. 

“…Good luck.” He says somberly. His eyes are still far away, and there is a small tremor in his firm hold on their shoulders. “…I’ll do my best on this end.”  
  
With this he waves a hand, in attempt to both say short curt goodbye and to dismiss himself from the scene. 

“Thank you.” Daichi says in monotone. His voice is low and serious, but the gratitude there is genuine. Hinata glances at Daichi, before swallowing hard, because there is a lump in his throat that just won’t go away. He continues to tremble from his head all the way down to his toes.  
  
“T-Thank you!” Hinata mimics, unable to conjure up anything else. He is beginning to feel his knees weaken, shaking at their joints.

Ukai turns to gaze at them one more time, his expression wrecked with a kind of pity and despondency that no one, _no one_ other than those who were thrown into the arena and _lived_ , could understand. He nods.  
  
Before pulling away, he reaches out, giving Hinata's shoulder a tight, reaffirming squeeze.

* * *

Without a word, he exits the room, with the strong scent of nicotine following after him. 

Kiyoko walks up to them quietly, looking down at her boots, a flicker of her gold-eyeliner shining through the lenses of her pink glasses.

“Please be safe.” She swallows before lifting her head to make eye contact. She hesitates, looking away and pinking in the cheeks. Hinata is about to say something, to tell her that they would try, but Daichi stops him.

“Wait.” He says lightly. “She isn’t done.”  
  
She shifts slightly, clasping her arms in front of her body, as if getting ready to bow. “…Please do your best.” She states, looking down again. “…I have faith in you both.” She pauses to regard them, as if memorizing their faces for the last time, then steps back, running out of the room to follow Ukai. 

* * *

They listen to the distant _clack clack clack_ from their stylist's boots until they can hear it no longer.

* * *

Daichi and Hinata are alone in the room, with ten minutes left, according to the metal rectangular clock hanging on the wall. Everything in the room is metallic. Everything, including the air circulated through the vents— is cold and _lifeless_. Nothing can be heard but faint creaks from the vents and the occasional distant footsteps.

Hinata cannot control his shaking. He's staring down hard at his hands, trying to get them to stay still. He's thankful that he isn't having stomach problems with how anxious he is feeling right now.

His limbs are becoming flaccid and lifeless. He can barely stand steady in his boots. He _needs_ to get a hold of himself.

Daichi takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes, before gently putting both his hands on Hinata’s shoulders. “You remember the plan?”

Hinata nods, more just in automatic response than in actual comprehension of what Daichi had just said.

“Hey,” Daichi says, gently hitting Hinata’s cheeks with the backs of his hands. It isn’t enough to actually hurt Hinata, but it’s enough to rouse him from his daze—if only for a few seconds. Daichi repeats himself. “You remember our plan?”  
  
Hinata continues to quiver, leaning his hands up to hold onto Daichi’s sleeves to stabilize himself. Daichi’s hands are strong and unmoving on his shoulders. “W-Water. D-Don’t go to the Cornucopia... …R…Run.”

“…I’ll try to meet up with you as quickly as I can. Use every tactic you know to survive.” Daichi isn’t expecting a response because Hinata is too full of anxiety to reply. "If we get separated, then run—go without me." His eyes don't back down until Hinata's meet his own.  
  
Daichi opens his mouth, sternly encouraging him.

  _"You're quick, Hinata."_

* * *

  Hinata hears a different person's voice in his head.

* * *

“We’re going to be okay.” Daichi says firmly, in harsher tones.

Hinata blinks up at him, his mouth shaky and his brows beginning to furrow. He is reminded of Kageyama on Reaping Day.

He doesn’t want to go into the arena. He doesn’t want to kill anyone. He doesn’t _want_ to die.  
  
He’s tightening his grip on Daichi’s sleeves even more now, and Daichi shuts his eyes, returning the gesture.  
  
But he has to go through with this. He's already here, fully dressed for any weather, with a tracker in his arm, shaking from head to toe.

* * *

If he had known this would happen, he would’ve hugged Natsu and his family more.

He would’ve picked more flowers with her out in the field instead of running off to play in the forests.  
He would’ve fought harder for the volleyball that peacekeeper had so callously thrown over the cliff.  
He _should’ve_ went after it.  
  
He would have argued less with Kageyama.  
He would’ve eaten the food they on their excursions slower, would have savored every bite, instead of hungrily pulling it apart as fast as he could.

He would’ve tried to probe him more, encourage Kageyama to open up, because in these recent years, he and Kageyama had been talking more.  
  
Every short conversation that could have been churned into something more substantial were now only missed opportunities.

Hinata pauses.

He would’ve told Kageyama…  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

* * *

He would’ve _smiled_ more.

* * *

  
But Hinata is here because he's protecting someone he cares about—and despite all his feelings of remorse about things he had never done, _protecting that someone_ is something that he will _never_ regret.

* * *

  
Each emotion is coming all at once, bubbling in his throat, suffocating him. The fear, the regret, the claustrophobic atmosphere of this empty steel room, the glass tube waiting to hoist him up to the arena like garbage, his friend and ally in front of him trying hard to stand strong and determined.  
  
His _ally_ , in the same situation.  
  
Hinata wanted more time.  
He wanted more time for him and Daichi, for Kenma, for Kuroo, and for everyone else in this situation.

* * *

_Just a little longer._

* * *

“One minute.” An emotionless, machine-like voice echoes within the room, causing it to vibrate at their walls. Daichi looks down at Hinata as he stares down at his feet, clenching his fists angrily.

.  
  
..  
  
…

 **  
** And Daichi reaches over, bending down slightly, he tugs Hinata to him, embracing him tightly and firmly. Daichi’s unwavering grip stills him, allowing him to feel safe for just a few fleeting seconds. He tries not to panic, inhaling Daichi’s jacket, trying to muster every ounce of courage that he had left to face the next few minutes. Small arms wrap around Daichi's back, holding him back just as tight.

* * *

They stay like that until the minute is over and the aforementioned bell rings, until Daichi nudges Hinata back with a movement of his head. He exits, entering the room adjacent to Hinata with fists clenched aside him. Hinata watches him go with a deep breath. 

* * *

Slowly, Hinata approaches the glass-like tube, staring at it with a look of determination, a look of anger, regret and fear. There are so many things he is fighting to keep out of his mind right now, so many things he wants to keep away.

He shuts his eyes, hanging his head down.

* * *

When he comes to his senses, there is no resignation on his face because he is going to fight.

* * *

He has to, because Daichi is relying on him.  
Everyone is waiting back at home.  
Natsu, his family— _he’s_ waiting back at home.

Hinata _isn’t_ going to give up.                                                               

 _“Ten seconds to enter.”_  

The glass door appears, sliding open, just as Kiyoko had informed them earlier. He swallows heavily, then steps inside.

The tube is big enough to fit the average person, but it seemed too narrow to Hinata.  
The glass surrounding him is pushing into his arms, enclosing him from all edges.

The glass door slides closed, his heart begins to quicken in pace, his breath rapidly escaping his lips.

There is no escape now.  
  
He can’t _breathe._  
  
The glass tube feels as if it is _barely_ even the width of his small body.

As he is slowly hoisted up, Hinata takes hold of his arms, as if trying to make space for himself within the capsule. It continues to feel as if he is pressed against the edges as he is slowly hoisted up.  
  
His breaths continue to quicken as his ears take in the droning sounds of the glass shooting itself up towards the arena, sharp sounds invading his every thought.

 _Stay calm.  
  
_ _You can do this._

* * *

.

..  
  
…

There is a bright light that blinds him when he finally surfaces. Automatically, he pulls his arm up for cover as his nose takes in the unnatural rush of fresh but mechanical feeling air. The tributes are brought up into a vast field surrounded by rolling hills and mountains covered in forests. Hinata couldn't tell just how far the arena went.  
  
But this place isn’t _real_ ; it’s created, even with the thick forest and mountain in the distance.  
  
It’s almost like home, but it _isn’t_.  
  
He can feel his chest heaving rapidly, tightening with anticipation. The push of adrenaline is making his heart beat faster, sending a surge of energy throughout his body.

Hinata is standing on top of a metal pedestal, scanning the area around him with the other tributes all spread out, standing on top of their own pedestals as well. His eyes dart around, desperately searching for Daichi.

They are in a spacious open area, a warm breeze rolling through the grass with the Cornucopia standing freely in front of them, beckoning for them to take the bait and run straight into it. Swords, javelins, arrows, backpacks, food, water supply… Everything, scattered all around, even on the grass surrounding the Cornucopia.  
  
_One thing_ catches his gaze.  
  
There is a small backpack—and Hinata cannot _help_ but think furiously about what could be inside it.

* * *

A match, medicine, water… 

* * *

His mind is racing. Whatever it is he is sure it could help Daichi and him. His mind rushes back to his and Daichi’s plan, but already he is deciding against it. Ukai had not actually seen his agility and Hinata thinks that perhaps Ukai would’ve said differently if he did. He’s _sure_ he can reach it; it looks only a few meters away.

Hinata is planting his feet, confident in his decision to take hold of it.

Daichi is _relying_ on him.  
He _isn’t_ going to be dead weight.

  
“10…”  
  
“9…”  
  
“8…”  
  
“7…”  
  
“6…”  
  
“5…”  
  
“4…”  
  
**“3…”  
  
** He would continue to look for Daichi, but he is too steadfast. He doesn’t want Daichi to worry. **  
  
“2…”**

Hinata is leaning forward now, eyes fixed and focused.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
Because he absolutely _isn’t_ dead weight.  
  
…  
  
..  
  
.  
  
**_“1!”_**

* * *

There is the resounding cry of a canon as he runs, the sounds of fire exploding into the sky with remnants of the blaze shooting off in various directions. He bolts towards the backpack as fast as he can, his feet and arms moving instinctively, feeling the wind sweep and hit his face. He doesn’t feel himself breathe as he reaches out with his hand, clutching tightly at the black backpack in front him.  
  
He is completely unaware of his surroundings, his mind blocking out the deafening cries of tributes falling to their knees as well as the screams and wails of those who were hit with falling embers from the canons.  
  
He grits his teeth, wrapping his fingers securely around the backpack’s sleeve, ready to draw back to flee into the forest.  
  
But something _snags._

Hinata is immediately stopped in his feet—hauled violently back towards the Cornucopia. There is another tribute staring up at him with a mad, hysterical look— desperately yanking back at the backpack as forcefully as he can—feet pushing at loose dirt while beads of sweat fall down the sides of his face, clenching his teeth.  
  
Hinata immediately recognizes the tribute.  
  
The tribute is the one who Terushima _thought_ had stolen his knife.  
  
Hinata tightens his grasp on the backpack’s sleeve, digging his heels into the ground, pulling in the opposite direction to increase his power and traction. He isn’t strong—but he knows he has to try—because he absolutely _isn’t_ going to let this backpack go.

He is _fast_.  
  
He could pull it away; he could run into the safety of the forest despite having not paid attention to the plan.

* * *

He’s familiar with the forest, even if this one isn’t real and is engineered only to look like one.  
The forest is his sanctuary, a place where he and Kageyama found refuge.  
He felt a spark of confidence in this arena full of people not much older or younger than him, all pitted against each other, all fighting for sheer survival.  
  
He’s certain he’ll be able to avoid any obstacles in the way.

* * *

Hinata hears the threads of the bag begin to pull and rip as it is pulled taut between them, soft tears becoming more and more audible. The adrenaline is pumping and he feels himself become more and more persistent, _unwilling_ to let this go.  
  
It isn’t long when he feels himself suddenly lose balance, flying back violently seconds later when the tribute abruptly lets go of the backpack.

* * *

Hinata grunts as he hits the ground when there is a splattering of warm, thick substance all over Hinata’s face and shoulders.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_Blood._  

He panics, overwhelmed with the metallic scent of iron in the air. For a moment, Hinata reaches his hands up to his face and shoulders in a loose kind of shock before realizing that his fingers were completely tainted in this tribute’s blood. Hinata kicks back at the ground, sliding himself back, tightening his grip on the grass— feeling his fingers slip with the thick red substance that had transferred from his face and shoulders. Grimy soil mixed with the blood that stained his hands, causing him to slip at every attempt to pull himself up from the ground.  
  
The tributes eyes are now wide; his lips moving hauntingly as if sounding out words, his _last_ words, in noiseless fear. His mouth is sullied with dripping blood, the red fluid slowly dragging down to the nape of his neck before finally disappearing into his shirt, discoloring the fabric as crimson seeped through.

* * *

He drops hard to the ground— first kneeling before plummeting—face down, with a _thud_.

* * *

 Hinata screeches at the sight, but has enough sense to scramble onto all fours to crawl and seize the backpack, his mind working in overtime and telling him to _hurry, grab it and run._  

* * *

 

But there is glimpse of something metallic that catches his eyes, making him stop in all his efforts to stand and escape.

* * *

There are three knives wedged deeply through the tribute he had been just been struggling with. One perfectly centered in the back of his head, another centered perfectly on his spine and the last towards the small of his back, just slightly above his hips.  
  
At this point, Hinata is beginning to feel predatory eyes on him and he immediately raises his head in response. 

Terushima is there, bent over in a throwing position, leaning back and grinning wildly with bloodlust. He smirks, yelling loudly.  
  
“Let’s have some _fun_ , Karasuno!” His mouth is open in laughter, a glint of something metal resting in the center of his tongue. Their eyes meet only once, for a split second. 

A piercing shade of yellow that froze Hinata in his tracks.  
  
Terushima’s hands are reaching swiftly into his back pocket, smiling while Hinata struggles to thrust himself up from the grass. 

He needs to move and he needs to move _fast_.

* * *

He _slips_ because there is too much blood strewn all over his fingers.

* * *

 Growling, Hinata kicks his foot forward, propelling himself upward, ultimately landing in a perfect squat on both his feet. He is jerking the backpack over his shoulder thinking he’s made it— when hears a whirring, whistling sound in the wind.

Seconds later, he turns his head— seeing that there are two knives heading straight for him: aimed perfectly.  
  
He stiffens frozen in shock; his eyes widening, while all around him becomes silent— _  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_

* * *

_  
Silent.  
  
_

* * *

_  
…Except,_ that is, for the piercing cry emitting from Daichi’s throat.

   
“ ** _HINATA!!!!!!_** ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [A/N]: And let the blood bath begin. : )


	10. Sawamura Daichi

  1. ****Sawamura, Daichi****



_“I figured you would be here.”  
  
Without looking up, Daichi knows immediately that Sugawara has come to accompany him even though he insisted that he’d be fine celebrating the upcoming New Year on his own. Still, Daichi has brought an extra blanket (the only extra he has) because he knows that despite everything— Sugawara would probably join him _ anyway _and Suga—being Suga— would most likely be cold.  
  
Sugawara was always cold, and somehow, the image of it—the image of him curling up into the blue scarf that _ Daichi _had given him, brows furrowed inward in cold discomfort made Daichi smile warmly._

 _"I didn’t even bother stopping at your house,” Sugawara continues, blowing warm breaths into his own palms._ _  
  
_

* * *

_  
He has some gloves on, ones that he’s already outgrown._

_They can’t afford a new pair, so Sugawara has cut off the tips to allow for space.  
Of course it wasn’t much, but it couldn’t be helped._

_Things like buying a new pair of gloves—or trading for a used one that fit better—was a luxury they couldn’t afford.  
  
_

* * *

_  
There were other things they needed to take care of.  
Other things to trade and buy.  
Necessities.  
  
_

* * *

_.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Daichi wishes it wasn’t that way.  
  
_

* * *

_  
Daichi scoots over slightly, making enough space for the other. “Hm?” Daichi instantly adopts a more playful tone in his voice. “…I thought we agreed that you_ wouldn’t _accompany me today…?”  
  
“We didn’t agree on anything.” Sugawara declares, taking a seat aside him with a mock chiding expression on his face. “…It’s New Year’s Eve. You should spend it with someone.”  
  
“What about your dad?”  
  
“Already asleep.”  
  
As Sugawara plops down, he winces at the cold sensation he feels upon making contact with the ground. The blanket they were sitting on didn’t help much in shielding the cold, but it was enough of a barrier to make a slight difference in comfort.  
  
_

* * *

_  
_ _Again, little things like that made the world they lived in bearable.  
It made things seem like it was all… enough.  
  
_

* * *

_  
__“He insisted I’d be there for you, of course. After all,_ you _always are for us.” Grinning, he nudges Daichi, then continues to rub his own hands together as he habitually did during the colder months. He runs his hands over his soft silver hair before adding teasingly, with lips curled upward: “…Are you saying that we were_ wrong _?”  
_

_Immediately, Daichi lets out a laugh.  
  
“No no, not at all.” Daichi‘s half-smile doesn’t falter during the entire exchange, but he still isn’t looking at the other. He is instead gazing out at the open fields, outer lands and forests they had gotten to know so well on its surfaces. _

_There was never a time they were actually able to explore as much as they wanted.  
Time constraints, other responsibilities—sometimes just plain fear—stopped them from doing so.  
  
Instead, they’d settle for crossing the border fences just to look out at this view.   
  
_

* * *

_  
If either Daichi or Sugawara were searching for the other, this was the place they would most likely be, other than in their respective homes.  
  
_

* * *

_  
“…Are you cold?” The answer is obvious, but Daichi wants to break the comfortable silence.  
  
“When am I not in this weather?”  
  
Daichi finally looks over at Suga, smiling fully now. He reaches a hand out, tugging gently on Sugawara’s blue scarf. He’d been wearing it all the time now, even during the chillier nights in summer. And while it made Daichi happy that it was useful in helping the other combat the cold, unforgiving air, he couldn’t quite quell the churn in his stomach._

_It wasn’t enough._

_Sugawara probably—definitely—deserved better._

_._

_..  
  
_ _“…I’m sorry all I could get you was this scarf.”  
  
“What are you talking about?” Sugawara whispers against the freezing wind, waving a hand. “I’ve never been able to give you anything in return. Don’t apologize for something like that.” Gently, he nudges Daichi again, this time leaning in, closing up the distance between them.  
  
Daichi doesn’t budge. Sugawara moves his head, resting it on Daichi’s shoulder. There is an ambient warmth there, radiating from their bodies._

_It’s enough to put Daichi’s mind at ease.  
  
“Mm, sorry.” Daichi replies offhandedly, conveniently disregarding the other’s affectionate actions. His eyes return to the open fields, his mind once again clouded with thoughts. “…Maybe it’s because it’s the start of the New Year. Makes a guy sentimental, you know.” Daichi rustles in his rucksack with a free hand, then hands Sugawara the extra blanket he brought with him. “Here.”  
  
“Ah, you brought an extra blanket?” Sugawara perks up immediately, huddling into it, attempting to spread it wide enough for both of them. Daichi hears a muffled, "why did you make me wait?" as Sugawara unravels it, covering himself completely.  
  
Chuckling, Daichi shuts his eyes. “…Something told me you’d come out here anyway.”  
   
This time, Sugawara laughs.  
  
"Thanks, Daichi."  
  
Daichi just shrugs, softly, so as not to shove Sugawara's head off his shoulders. They knew each other too well._ _  
  
_

* * *

_Despite everything, he often thinks they should just run. He’s sure they would make it, because both Sugawara and he are experienced enough to survive through most, if any conditions._

_It doesn’t matter what they’ve seen in the past.  
He knows they’d make it.  
  
_

* * *

_“You thinking about us?”  
  
That catches Daichi off guard.  
  
“What?”  
  
“You’re thinking we could run again, don’t you?” Daichi feels the other pull his head away._

_"...Yeah," he says, because he’s never been able to lie to Sugawara with success. "We'd make it."_

_"They'll find us," Sugawara breathes out, and he has reiterated this before. "And if they find us, they'll torture us, or kill us." Daichi looks up to respond, but Sugawara has already looked away—forward, towards the endless trees and the white sheet of clouds, inhaling deeply, then exhaling shakily. He was probably thinking about all the things they had seen up until then.  
_ _  
._

_.._

_…_

_  
The infinite tortures the Capitol would inflict on runaways._

_The man with black hair parted on his left._

_Sugawara shuts his eyes, pulling his knees up to his chest, as if suddenly remembering how cold it was._

_  
Daichi clenches his jaw, physically steeling himself_ not _to go on some endless tirade of how much he despised the Capitol. He persists in the idea of running, because for some reason, today, the thought does not leave his mind easily._

 _He lets his voice simmer down, taking on a calmer, less serious tone. “We’d probably be able to hide…” Daichi points towards a heavier area of forestry, “there.”  
  
“Where?” Sugawara opens his eyes, relaxing at the shift of Daichi’s voice, squinting at the aforementioned location. Gently, Daichi reaches a hand out, clasping onto Sugawara’s wrist, before pointing it to the direction.  
  
“…There.”  
  
Sugawara's eyes narrow, examining the location as best he could, now fully aware of where Daichi is pointing. “Wouldn’t that be the first place logically to look for runaways? There’s some pretty thick foliage.”  
  
Daichi scoffs. “No, the people in the Capitol aren’t smart enough to figure something like that out. Besides, there’d be plenty of hideouts there. Natural hideouts—like caves and what not. And if they _ did _pursue us in there, they’d probably trip, break a nail, and then run home crying.”  
  
Sugawara lets out a faint laugh at Daichi’s not so subtle insult to the Capitol citizens.  
  
“I guess so.”  
  
_

* * *

_  
And then for an instant, it’s silent again._ _  
  
_

* * *

_  
_ _Daichi continues to feel the warmth of Sugawara’s body radiating off his own while he cranes his head up to looks at the sky, now completely white, stretched out across for miles. He feels the other flinch beside him—and that’s when Daichi realizes it’s snowing.  
  
“It’s snowing!” Sugawara is lifting his head excitedly, reaching out with semi-gloved hands to catch some flakes. Even though he becomes cold easily, and even though the snow usually brings more work upon them in the winter, he always loved the snow.  
  
A flake lands on his nose and he flinches again, smiling.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Soon there is a flurry of snow, falling in more copious amounts, quickly blanketing the ground in white.  
_

_Sugawara suddenly pauses, almost as if jostled out of his previous mindset, thinking of something else to say. "…Let's head back. The snow will melt into the blanket. It'll be wet and heavy."_

_Daichi is surprised by his friend's urgency as he pushes himself off the ground, folding up the blanket. It wasn't that big of a deal, but if they stayed out here for any longer with a wet and heavy blanket, he, or Sugawara would probably get sick._

_He reaches out to help with the sheet, stuffing it back into his bag before the two make their way back to town._

_“…Did you want to stay there until midnight? We could have celebrated the New Year from there.”_

_Sugawara’s voice is soft against the cold, small puffs of air leaving his lips as they continued to walk, each step making a soft crunching sound in the ground as they moved._

_“Nah.”_

_Daichi smiles at the sentiment. Suga was always one for sentiments, celebrations—no matter what the situation they were in._ _  
  
_

* * *

_It really didn’t take long for Daichi to agree it was probably best to go back._

* * *

 

 _There were better things to do after all—than stare at a representation of your possible but likely_ impossible _freedom. He’d rather ‘celebrate’ by just doing something simple. Something he genuinely enjoyed.  
  
Like spending time with someone he cared about.  
~~~~_

_As they get closer to Daichi's home, the sun begins to set. As if responding, the snow immediately comes down heavier, while people hurriedly retreat into their houses searching for warm comfort and refuge. Daichi's house already has a thin layer of white on it, lights off inside. It wasn’t the warmest looking house, but for them, it was a welcoming home._

* * *

_Daichi had made no comment when they passed Sugawara’s house._

* * *

_Sugawara must intend on spending the night with Daichi today—or at least stay with him for a little while—as he so often did several times a week since Sugawara’s father was rarely home. It felt nearly automatic for Daichi to hold open the door and let the other enter (so much so that sometimes even on his own, he would open it out of habit before realizing that Sugawara wasn’t there with him)._

_The wind picks up and Sugawara hops up to the front door, trying to tame his scarf as it bustled and lifted in tandem with the wind. He puts his hands on the knob, teeth chattering in signal for Daichi to hurry up, open it and let him in. Daichi smirks—gets his key out, unlocks the door and opens it._

* * *

_He pauses when he feels Sugawara's hand wrap around his and squeeze briefly._

 

* * *

_He turns his head to the other before the lights in his home unexpectedly turn on._

_"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!!!"  
_

_Different colors flutter all around Daichi as he stares in disbelief._

_Asahi, Nishinoya, Hinata, Kageyama—even Tsukishima and Yamaguchi are standing there._

_Asahi is hunched over rubbing his hand on the back of his head smiling sheepishly—almost embarrassed at how loudly his voice projected and boomed across the house when he greeted Daichi. Nishinoya is standing straight, proudly grinning and nudging Asahi for the feat._

_Hinata is now arguing with Kageyama because he had jumped up spontaneously at the moment Daichi had come in— accidentally knocking Kageyama upside the head.  He was already beginning to defend himself in response to Kageyama’s angry frown._

_“I was excited!”  
  
“Dumbass! Watch where you’re jumping!”  
  
Tsukishima is grumbling at Hinata and Kageyama's immediate bickering, already turned away rolling his eyes. Yamaguchi smiles fondly, as if knowing a secret that no one else was privy to but him. When it came to _ Tsukishima _, that was probably true.  
  
The taller blond_ never _let anyone close enough to understand him.  
Except Yamaguchi._

 _It takes Daichi a minute to process what was occurring before stuttering a thank you. He feels himself awkwardly shuffle back in his feet, his mind still keen on Sugawara’s hand around his before he felt the other slowly unlace his fingers and pull away._

_Everyone laughs._

* * *

 

_Apparently they had all been planning this for over a month; and of course, Sugawara was in on it.  
_

* * *

_Daichi didn't expect a thing.  
_

* * *

_His previous birthdays before were much quieter—calmer. His friends greeted him—but he had never had anything close to a party, let alone a cake._

_The cake, Daichi discovers, is a gift from his distant friend, Ikejiri, who lives in the more fortunate, prosperous part of town. It's a very simple cake, with white icing and a round shape with lemon in the middle. It’s settled on the wooden table with a small candle resting right on top, with a tiny flame that made the table seem much more radiant than it truly was._

_Hinata shuffles towards the light switches, turning them all off— and soon—all Daichi can see are the illuminated faces of his friends, eyes flickering._

_"I…" Daichi inhales, "... you didn't have to do all this."_

_All eyes are on him and they can feel the heaviness in his voice.  
This is the most that's ever happened on his birthday for a very, very long time._

_"We want to celebrate your last year of reaping eligibility." Noya says, raising a small cup, grinning widely. Daichi wanted to refute, but he couldn't. He looks around at the rest of his friends, some of them still three years away from this "milestone"._

_Hinata, Kageyama, Tsukishima and Yamaguchi stood there, celebrating with him though they still had more Reapings to endure. He couldn't help but feel grateful, not only for their companionship, but also for the fact that none of them have been reaped._

_"Thank you." He can feel his chest rise as he attempts to steel himself to keep his emotions under control. His eyes are turning red, but thankfully, under the blanket of darkness—with only a candle to light their expressions— he is able to hide it._

_"Don't forget to make a wish." Sugawara grins, teeth baring slightly._

_Daichi nods, then blows out his candle.  
_

* * *

_The room is pitch black and everything is silent.  
Snow continues to fall outside._

* * *

_.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
It's around eleven at night when the snow storm slows down enough for people to begin heading home. _

* * *

_The last one standing is Sugawara._

* * *

_._

_.._

_…_

_"I'm staying."_

_Daichi grins fondly, not taking a moment to argue. "Are you hungry? Nishinoya and Asahi basically gave me a whole deer for a present."_

_Sugawara groans, patting his stomach, "No way, I'm so full, Daichi! What a way to start the year, huh?" He helps clean up as he talks, rustling about the small living room and kitchen area. Once they're done, they slump down tiredly on the couch, instantly cold._

* * *

_Daichi decides to try and start a fire._

* * *

_He is struggling, attempting to ignite a fire with the wood. He clamps his lips impatiently, the tip of his tongue later sticking out from his mouth in concentration. “There aren’t any more matches…”_

* * *

_They had used the last match to light his birthday candle._

* * *

_  
When Daichi makes a grunt of disapproval at the time that’s passed (and the lack of flame), Sugawara is making a movement to stifle the laugh escaping from his lips.  
  
“Give me that.” Sugawara grins teasingly at Daichi. “I wanted to see how long it would take before you got too annoyed and impatient to do it.”  
  
Daichi lets out a heavy sigh when he sees a spark of flame flicker to life, a small fire burning in its wake. He thought maybe he could start a fire just this _ once _, but even now, after so many years, he still didn’t have the patience or the proper technique to do it._

* * *

 _Daichi thought maybe his birthday would go by unnoticed this year.  
Truthfully, it pretty much went unnoticed by him too.  
  
Daichi was never the celebratory type.  
Birthdays, more so his own, never really mattered to him._ _  
  
_ _Sugawara reaches over, pouring them both a cup of boiling water._ _  
  
_

* * *

_As a present, Natsu had given them milk from her cow._

_Daichi wants to offer some to Suga, to have some milk instead of boiled water, but knows he’ll refuse.  
He probably would want to save it._

* * *

_Sugawara lifts his own cup of water, gingerly, carefully, so as not to burn himself. He shuts his eyes dramatically, raising it up to the air in a toasting motion._

_When Daichi does nothing, Sugawara opens an eye, peeking at Daichi, encouraging him to do the same, with lips puckered slightly, motioning towards the table._

_Daichi raises an eye and mirrors him, lifting his own cup into the air. “Koushi…”  
  
“Shh, Shh!” Sugawara clears his throat dramatically. “Looking forward to a good year!”_

_Daichi mutters inaudibly, feeling his insides chuckle with amusement._

_“And…” Sugawara’s voice dies down to barely that of a whisper. His eyes are half lidded, with almost a melancholic look to them. “…Again, to your last year of eligibility for the Reaping.” He looks up at Daichi, grinning, retaining that soft whisper. “…Here’s to hoping you’ll never be picked.”_

_Before Daichi can react, Sugawara gently clinks their cups together (as best he can, with them being made of wood), before taking a slow sip._

_“Come on!” Sugawara says quickly, after transferring some of the still lit wood into a portable receptacle. He reaches down and lifts it with his free hand, involuntarily shuddering at the frosty air. “Let’s go sit on the bed, it’s freezing in here!”_

* * *

_._

_.._

_…_

_Slowly, Daichi’s face softens.  He feels happy, watching the other stumble carefully through the dark and into the next room.  
  
_

* * *

_.  
  
..  
  
…And Daichi _ continues _to watch Sugawara, soft brown eyes and a handsome smirk, alone in his thoughts before finally following after him, whispering under his breath.  
  
_

* * *

_There were too many times within his eighteen birthdays that he did not expect much— or anything at all. His naivety as a child wore off and reality quickly settled in. Truthfully, it was sometimes hard to look optimistically into a whole new year. When he and his friends turned old enough to be reaped, it became worse._

_Not even the seemingly indomitable Nishinoya was immune to the world they lived in. They all have admitted to sleepless nights, shaky hands and the heavy feeling of dread washing over them on Reaping mornings._

_Every day they are exhausted by their lives, but they learn to cope and to make the best of what they have, to do what they can—what they must. They try to be optimistic—especially Sugawara, who makes it a point to rejoice in their small victories, like being able to gather more wood than usual, and having leftovers of a meal._

_It helps push Daichi forward, reminds him why he wants to continue surviving.  
What he _ has _to live for._

 _And so he swallows, pulling his feet to follow after the other, ignoring the pangs of emotion welling up within his chest._

_He tightens his grip around the wooden cup, mouth opened just enough to whisper.  
_

_“… Yeah, Koushi.” He says, feeling another small tug in his chest. “…Here’s to hoping we never will be reaped.”  
  
_

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“ ** _HINATA!!!!!!_** ”  
  
He couldn't _believe_ it.  
  
Hinata had run straight for a backpack—blatantly and perilously disregarding their previous plans. Barely a minute in, no, _seconds_ in,  Daichi is craning his head in a wild, rushed panic, only to be met with a clear view of Hinata on the other side of the arena already covered in blood and grappling desperately to kick and push himself up and off the grassy fields.

* * *

  
Two knives are hurtling towards him, whistling as they pierce mercilessly through the wind, glistening and nearly blinding Daichi as the blades reflected off the sun.

* * *

Daichi growls, determinedly running towards the Cornucopia, his feet already struggling to keep up the pace he set for himself— stumbling in the wake of large bumps on the uneven grassy floor. He has never felt _slower_ —never felt so _disoriented_ and _confused_ — but he _wasn’t_ going to leave Hinata out in the open even if Ukai had warned them time and time and _time_ again to avoid the Cornucopia—and to just turn around and run. 

As he propels himself towards the other side of the Cornucopia, Daichi scans the area hurriedly— eyes flitting rapidly from side to side— noticing that most of the tributes that hadn’t chosen to run were already participating in heated combat. He can hear the sharp _clang_ of the swords and blades as they clashed together—the sound of arrows piercing through the air—the _squish_ upon contact with human flesh as it dug through skin to _bone_ _.  
_  
There is definite grunting from each blow—pained high-pitched gasps and the slip of boots in the muddied ground.  

. 

.. 

…

 _Surprisingly,_ the screams permeating the air feeldisembodied. Daichi cannot be sure where they are coming from because they are coming from _every_ single angle imaginable, circling his body, making it impossible to pinpoint their exact origins. 

His body is reacting on instinct, listening and watching for anything around him. 

_Hinata.  
He has to get to Hinata._

* * *

The fireworks continue to burst and crack, sending embers showering across the field—ruthlessly scalding unaware tributes down through their clothes, seeping into their skin making harsh sizzling sounds as they sear through the skin. 

The smell of burning skin, _like rotting flesh_ is indescribable. 

He sees the pair from District Fukurodani dash straight into the Cornucopia itself,  he can see the flashes of gold and black blurring past— but he cannot be _too_ sure—as the savage drive to get to Hinata impairs his ability to focus on _anything_ for much more than a second.

* * *

_Hinata.  
_

* * *

Because of all the chaos occurring within the first few minutes of the canon going off, Daichi is hardly within the other tributes’ focus. Their minds are concentrating specifically on their own battles, the wounds inflicted and their tributes falling all around them. 

Swiftly, Daichi lifts the first thing he can get his hands on: an arrow—one that a tribute had inadvertently dropped from their quiver during the heat of battle.  
  
“Ngh!”  Hastily, Daichi aims the arrow towards Terushima, eyes visibly focusing on their target, arching his arm back to throw, planting his feet as deeply as he can into the soil. The light weight of the arrow would make it more difficult to gauge and predict it’s direction against the wind, but he couldn’t— he _wouldn’t_ falter.  
  
He had enough power and confidence in his accuracy to believe that he would actually hit the Career tribute—  
.  
  
..  
  
…

But _suddenly_ , he is halted halfway during the movement when he sees Hinata break out of his stupor, jumping high into the air, spinning, _dodging_ one of two knives with miraculous speed. Hinata is running with an incredible speed now, racing into the forest— _zig-zagging_ —with one knife lodged deeply into the posterior side of his backpack.  

* * *

Daichi hesitates at this— _only for a second_ —catching his breath.

* * *

He watches on until he sees that bright orange hair disappear into the trees, swallowed within the confines of what seems to be an infinite expanse of forest. The Career tribute grunts at his escape, but to Daichi’s surprise— he does nothing else— only _smirks_ at the fleeting figure, eyes narrowing, twirling the knife in his hand and seemingly pleased and delighted with the turn of events.  
  
“Looks like little Karasuno really _is_ gonna make this fun.”

* * *

A flash of silver metal appears when he grins brilliantly at his partner, tongue peeking out in amusement. 

Terushima’s words rung true.  
He really _did_ look like he was having fun—in a clumsy, _true Jouzenji_ — disorganized-but-organized way.

* * *

Terushima turns, running a hand through his sleek blond hair, targeting another tribute on the arena while his partner quickly comes behind him to back him up. They are standing there, backs against each other, readying knives and arrows to target any tribute in their way, that “fun” smile never leaving their faces.

* * *

Daichi takes a step back.  

Best to avoid the tributes now that Hinata was safe.

It isn’t too late to revert back to the original plan.  
His priority now was to run to safety— _not_ to engage in battle.  
  
Seconds later, that familiar whirring sound pierces through the wind again and _this time_ —they make their target, crunching as they hit dead center on the forehead.

* * *

Thick blood immediately seeps out of the wound, like a pipe of water that had been left on, streaming beneath the razor-sharp blade. The image sears itself directly into Daichi’s mind.

* * *

Daichi freezes, automatically focusing only on the target’s _eyes_ —wide with shock as he fell hard onto the cold, solid ground.   

* * *

Daichi is panting now from the sudden amount of adrenaline that had just coursed through him, that abrupt, _animal-like_ need to save Hinata— to unexpectedly _deflatin_ g upon seeing him escape into the woods. Daichi’s gaze darts around in uncertainty, as if trying to remind himself of what he needs to do. 

He spots a satchel.  
  
Hurriedly, he grabs the small satchel; one much smaller than the backpack Hinata had been able to get away with, shoving the arrow he acquired deep within a side pocket of the bag. 

He grits his teeth, then turns away to flee.

He continues to see fuzzy figures in his peripheral vision, _fighting, running, falling,_ but he doesn't slow his pace to see what they're doing, because he knows he must not stop.

* * *

Another pained scream resounds in his ears and _this time_ , he is _fully aware_ of it because it is nearly deafening.  
  
The booming, earsplitting voice encompasses the entire confines of the Cornucopia.  
  
“ _AKAASHI!!!!!_ ”

Daichi trips in his footing, thrown off by the guttural, deep-seeded cry.  
Akaashi.  
The dark haired tribute from Fukurodani?  
_What_ —  
But he cannot waver.  
  
He _can’t_ look back.  
  
He ignores that small part of him that wants to stop.  
He _ignore_ s the mental images flashing through his mind—the training sessions with Fukurodani— _the—_

* * *

He needs to find shelter.  
He needs to find water.

He needs to find Hinata.  
He _needs_ to get out of here.

Each step he takes is _amplified_ to him— 

Left foot—

Right foot—

 _Left_ — 

He reaches the edge of the forest, bounding in with urgency and shutting his eyes for a split second as the wind pushes against his face.  
  
_That’s_ when he slams hard into another tribute—who quite literally—knocks the air completely out of him. Immediately Daichi loses his footing, staggering back before using his weight to regain balance from what he ran into—what _seemed_ to be an iron wall. 

His eyes rise up to meet with the steely gaze of the tribute in front of him, facing him directly, legs situated in a way where it would be nearly impossible to take him down.

Tall and _fierce_ —with bright icy white hair. 

 _Who—  
_  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
They stand there, winded, locked in an intimidating stare for what seems like forever— hands moving hesitantly at their sides, fists opening and closing, both standing on edge and oblivious to their surroundings.  
  
Daichi had no idea what could or _would_ happen.  
Neither have a weapon in their hands, but Daichi can _reach_ one, the arrow in his bag pocket if he moves fast enough. 

But the tribute in front of him looks as if he can literally snap Daichi’s neck in a second if he dared to look away for a second, no weapon needed.  
  
Daichi bites his bottom lip, hesitating as maniacal laughter and screams wailed endlessly in the background.  
  
His eyes fall to the uniform the tribute is wearing. 

Black with dark green outlined with white.  
An emblem, a number imprinted on his shoulder.  
_District 10_ —Datekyougou.  
  
Daichi’s eyes flit back up to those intense, penetrating eyes.

* * *

“ _Aone!!_ Let’s get the hell out of here!”

* * *

Then— _at the same time_ —Daichi and the tribute take a step back.  
  
_What_?  
  
It is at this point when the other tribute, _Aone,_ hurriedly turns away, stepping back awkwardly and almost clumsily due to his large stature, fleeing in a direction opposite from Daichi, back towards the voice calling out to him.

* * *

It seems Daichi and Hinata weren’t the _only ones_ who wanted to simply run without killing anyone.

At least… not _yet.  
__  
_ He would have to see how those morals would last as the Game went on.  
  
Desperate tributes would call for desperate actions.  
Their values and beliefs may not be the same in a few hours, let alone tomorrow. 

Hurriedly, he pushes forward into the thick forest, shoving away thick branches of foliage prodding and scraping at him during the way. _  
_

* * *

. 

.. 

…

As he continues to flee into the forest, Daichi does his best to keep his mind sharp and his eyes open as he takes note of everything around him, twisting his head from one area to the next for any hints of rustling or hints of danger. His entire body feels hyperaware of his surroundings. He can hear his own quick breaths, every hair standing on end. He is constantly in a focused state of mind, making sure there is nothing attacking—or waiting to attack—him from behind or his sides.  
  
His running slows not too long after escaping the arena.  
Ten, maybe fifteen minutes at most.  
  
Halfway amidst all his panting, he takes in a gulp of air, leaning over and resting his hands on his knees, then wiping the sweat off his tanned face. He decides ultimately to preserve his strength— _not_ to use it all running frantically into the forest.    
  
He wants to conserve as much of his energy as he possibly can.  
  
He has the mental fortitude to know he needs to stop and _think_.

* * *

_What about the plan?  
_

* * *

As he finally catches his breath, Daichi takes the time to reevaluate his surroundings. He can't hear anything around him except for the tree branches swaying high above him and the birds chirping in the distance while bits of sun peeked through the spaces between the trees, hitting him in the face and shoulders. 

The air surrounding him blows into his face and hair, bangs lifted ever so slightly with it, both gently caressing his features and giving him chills from head to toe.

* * *

. 

.. 

…

  
_It’s quiet._

* * *

It takes much longer for him to determine that there is no one around— _no threat_ —in his immediate surroundings. He sighs unsteadily, body jumping at the slightest sounds—a leaf shifting in the air—before deciding to find water.  
  
The plan was for Hinata and him to eventually meet—and he supposes there is no harm in having water for them both to use.

* * *

  _Hinata._  

* * *

 _How far did he run?  
Is he still running?  
How is he doing?  
  
_ Daichi felt surprisingly exhausted from the short run, finding himself somewhat light-headed from both the physical and _mental_ exertion—from all the rushing thoughts and incidents.  
  
He can feel every breath he takes as he attempts to rest his body while searching.  
  
_How tired is Hinata?  
Is he wounded?  
Is he alive?  
__  
_ Daichi struggles to keep his mind in place, fleeting to thoughts of blood staining Hinata’s face, upper shoulders and hands. The blood must have been transferred— maybe Hinata reached his hands up to his face in shock, wondering what the sudden thick liquid was all over him. 

It couldn’t have been Hinata’s own injury, could it?  
He looked horrified, eyes wide and stark with fear—even with the distance between him and Daichi. 

* * *

_But if it was from his own wound, he’d be dead now.  
_

* * *

In the beginning, when Daichi was first lifted into the arena through that tiny capsule, Daichi hadn't immediately found Hinata—he wasn't able to see how exactly Hinata ended up with so much blood on him.  
  
Daichi holds back any feeling of worry, steeling his mind to think rationally... and _optimistically_.  
  
 If it was Hinata’s own wound, it wouldn’t have splattered in that way. Even if they were full of adrenaline, Daichi thinks, Hinata would’ve shown some sign of pain or handicap running back into the forest. 

 _Wouldn’t he?  
  
_ And he _hadn’t_ —so Daichi assumes that logically, Hinata must’ve been all right.  
He wasn’t a medical expert by any means and maybe he was wrong, because he had heard of situations where the body was so high off adrenaline that the body ignores physical impairment— _no_

There is a nagging feeling in the back of his mind constantly floating with questions of “what-ifs". But he would _not_ allow his emotions to overtake him, not when he had no evidence of the smaller tribute’s demise. 

He _has_ to be all right.

 _Hinata_ has _to be all right._

* * *

.

..

…

  
_“Relax, Daichi. Take a deep breath.” Chuckling, Sugawara runs a hand absently through his own silver toned bangs.  
  
“But—“  
  
“What’s the use of getting upset or worrying about it? You’ll find out when you find out.” His grin takes on a more playful countenance, widening from ear to ear. He points at Daichi, index finger playfully circling in front of Daichi’s face. “In the meantime, I think you owe me! It’s your turn to clean my house!”  
  
Daichi sighs, unable to stifle the laugh escaping from his mouth. Sugawara always cleaned Daichi’s house when he was over, just out of habit, just out of something to do. One day, he playfully teased Daichi saying one of these days, he would have Daichi do the same in his own.  
  
At the time, Daichi inherently knew what Sugawara’s real intentions were.  
He wanted to distract Daichi, make light of their situations so they could keep going._

_Sugawara always knew how to make things easier to bear, easier to face._

_So they could all continue with every sunrise._

* * *

_So they could face it all again the next day._

* * *

_.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_ Daichi’s hands open and close aside him before finally releasing their tension, causing the pressure-induced small red spots on his hands to revert back to white. 

“…Relax.” Daichi voices to himself (and it’s really someone else’s voice that he hears). 

. 

..

…

  
And _surprisingly_ , for now, despite these surroundings, it was successful.

* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…

  
For a long while, Daichi hikes through the forest, keeping himself on constant guard.  After fully coming down from his adrenaline rush, he finds himself feeling “okay”.  He is more alert and much more in tune with his surroundings. 

He has a clear head.  
And really at this point, that’s more than he could ever ask for.    
  
Sighing, Daichi leans against a tree, digging his hand into his satchel pocket to take out the arrow he retrieved earlier. He was sure he was at minimum— one, maybe two miles in. By this point, Daichi can feel how flushed his face is, can feel the beads of sweat forming on the edges of his face as he fingers the blade of the arrow, assessing its overall quality. He smiles when he sees it is indeed incredibly sharp, barely even touching it and already having a superficial cut on his finger.

* * *

He glances at the bead of blood slowly escaping the cut.

* * *

He points the arrow down, then stomps hard on the metal point, effectively separating the blade from its thin wooden shaft. He makes sure to keep at least two inches of its wooden shaft connected to use as a handle, leaning down to pick up a flat stone to sand down the wood until it no longer had splinters or sharp ends to injure himself with. He does the same with the broken shaft, placing it into his rucksack, figuring it would have to somehow be useful later.  
  
Daichi is now inspecting the rest of his bag—which, to his relief, has a _full_ bottle of water, twine and a small pack of beef jerky. He uses the twine to quickly attach the arrowhead to a longer, thicker piece of wood, thus creating a makeshift spear.  
  
Daichi continues to wipe his forehead, attempting to clear it of any dampness that had accumulated there. He is already feeling the pangs of thirst but adamantly refuses to take a sip out of his water until he absolutely needs to. He is surprised the game makers even _provided_ water in his small rucksack—and he figures it must’ve been the only bag in the arena containing it—leaving the rest of the water situated in the epicenter of the Cornucopia. 

Daichi clicks his tongue. He got lucky.

* * *

The Careers must have taken over the Cornucopia, harvesting any and all materials to use for their own benefit.  
  
_If_ they teamed up.  
  
Daichi wouldn’t be surprised if they all murdered each other already in greed. There was so much happening as he fled the open field surrounding the Cornucopia. 

He stares at his makeshift spear in thought, his mind replaying the image of embers falling from the sky, people running, others attacking— when that tribute, probably from district three judging by the colors on his uniform, received the dagger to his forehead.

* * *

He remembers the sickening crunch the knife made upon contact with the tribute’s forehead.

* * *

Those were people Hinata and he had trained with.

People who _just hours ago_ were alive and well. 

He is shaken from his thoughts when he hears the canon go off, again, and again, and _again_. 

There are a total of eight shots into the air. This means that there are eight dead and sixteen tributes still standing. The game maker must have waited a certain period of time before sounding the canon because of all the initial deaths. Daichi is surprised.

* * *

He thought he had seen many more bodies fall as he ran through the main field.

* * *

He exhales, trying to expel his previous thoughts about all the dead tributes. He knows that if he continues to think about it, he would just become angry.

Angry and _distracted_.

He didn’t have the time to allow for either of those.

He didn’t have the luxury to allow himself to slip up and make even the tiniest of mistakes.  
He needed to move forward.

* * *

He begins to stride across the forest, thinking about what he needed to do to get through the day. He is debating internally, wondering if he should stop to set some traps for wild game or keep walking.  
  
_Is it too early to stop and get something to eat?  
  
_ Daichi doesn’t plan to use the beef jerky in his satchel, not until he is at the brink of starvation.  
  
_Might as well prepare for later, even if he wasn’t hungry right now._  

Daichi shrugs his shoulders, stretching them as he raises his head up to deduce the time from the height of the sun. After a few minutes, he figures that yes, he should probably set some traps. He had a few hours until sunset and figured now was as good a time as any to catch some food.

. 

..

…

* * *

 _“Where did you learn to hunt like that?” Sugawara asks, looking and examining Daichi’s crafted trap closely. He is crouching down at the ground, tilting his head in interest. Nishinoya and Asahi had come hunting with them this time, if only just to increase their chances of success. The two approach after a squirrel gets caught in Daichi's trap.  
  
“My dad taught me before he passed away.” Daichi kneels down to Sugawara’s current height, turning the trap to show it to them. “It’s not nearly as good as his—or Kageyama’s—but I find it’s effective in making the animal suffer least.”_

_"…I think it's great." Asahi's voice was soft and barely above that of a whisper.  
  
Sugawara smiles.  
  
“I think so too.” Pale fingers reach out to untie the squirrel from the trap, carefully setting it into their bag.  “…You know, the Capitol doesn’t even think about our suffering and yet…_ we’re _here making sure a squirrel won’t.” His voice takes on a somber tone, brown eyes lifting to gaze at Daichi, Asahi and Nishinoya somberly. “Almost funny, isn’t it?”_

 _._

_.._

_…_

* * *

About an hour in, he catches a rabbit.

* * *

Before he does anything, he disposes of any evidence of his traps to avoid being traced.

* * *

He is sitting on a stone, about to start gutting and cleaning out the rabbit with the arrowhead he had managed to snatch earlier. Daichi wanted to prepare it for eating as quickly as he possibly could.  
  
Suddenly, there is rustling behind him.

Voices follow.  
  
Hastily, he jolts up, running back towards a giant hollowed out tree he had found earlier. It was big enough inside to fit at least four people, lying horizontally from each other. He can feel his breaths begin to increase in anxiety, but he shuts his eyes, pushing back into edge of one side the trunk, using the shadows to hide and calm himself. There is a small opening in the back of the tree, nothing more than a slit, but enough for Daichi to look through.

“Over here!” A voice calls from afar.   

Daichi's entire body is planted against the tree, hands helping to steady himself as he peers through the slit cautiously. 

It's almost an entire minute before he actually sees a couple of people in the distance. He glances around to make sure he didn't leave any obvious signs of his presence. He thinks he is safe—and if he _did_ miss something, it was too late to hide it. The two tributes walk closer, one cutting through low branches and bush with a machete. Their black jackets lined with a sleek teal color with the number four labeled upon their backs. 

Daichi recognizes them.

 _Aoba Johsai._  

One is tall with dark, short, tousled hair; the other is shorter, a little younger and sleepier looking, with dark hair split in the middle. Both of them look much cleaner compared to how Daichi _felt_ for being in the Games for a good amount of time. 

Neither Daichi nor Hinata spent much time with them during training, or anywhere else—especially since they saw themselves as the successors to a Hunger Games victor—the victor _most loved_ by the Capitol—one whose popularity has never ceased to do anything but grow years after his win. 

 _Oikawa Tooru._  

"Kunimi." The two of them stop a few meters away from Daichi's tree. 

They observe their surroundings and Daichi notices that they're not looking down at the ground. They are staring forward, eyes focused, listening—as if feeling for an attack.

 _Can they sense him here?_  

One turns their head towards Daichi’s direction.  
Daichi pushes hard against the tree, attempting to make himself as flat as possible.  
  
He understood they couldn’t see him through the tree, but he couldn’t help but think—with the way they were standing and sounding—that they could see _right past it._

 _‘Stay still’_.  Daichi’s mind screams. _‘Keep calm.’_

_._

_.._

_…_

* * *

_“I guess that means we’re even less than animals in the Capitol’s eyes.”  
_ _  
With that, Sugawara rises, before reaching out a hand to help Daichi to his feet. He was right. As always, Suga was right.  
_

* * *

… 

.. 

. 

"…I thought I heard something, sorry." The taller one purses his lips, annoyed. He doesn’t appear or sound afraid. 

He must have been anticipating something exciting, something to prove his worth—to show and prove to the Capitol and everyone back at home that he and his teammate were worthy of sharing the same district as Oikawa. 

"Let's head back, Matsukawa." Kunimi says, turning away slightly. There is a slight urgency in his voice.  
  
Did they hear a tribute elsewhere?  
Or did they feel threatened by Daichi’s presence? 

It isn't until they were out of sight and sound that he realizes how tight he had been gripping his spear. His fingers blanched and stiff when he released it from his hold.

* * *

. 

..

… 

He decides to take shelter within that large hollow tree trunk. He is able to cut some shrubbery to cover up the opening a little, then digs a little spot deep enough so that if anyone peers in, he will not be easily seen. 

By night time, the inside of the tree trunk is pitch black. Once he lays down to rest, he finds himself much more exhausted than he knew. His legs almost immediately lost all energy, knees weakening and legs clunking hard onto the ground. There is a soreness that radiates throughout his knees and upper thighs. His eyes are ready to betray him, about to fall into deep sleep when a bright light shines through the sky. 

Daichi sits up with urgency until he hears music play—the Capitol's self-important theme. 

He reaches out a hand, pushing the makeshift-curtain away from the opening of the tree, peering outside and towards the sky, letting the brightness of the moon hit his face. There is a big enough opening in the branches above for him to see the Capitol's emblem projected onto the arena's ceiling, then the faces of the tributes that had been killed.   

 _Murdered._

He almost didn't want to watch, but he had to make sure _Hinata_ wasn't one of them. 

All eight were shone, and as if too conveniently, all of the tributes from Districts 3, 8 and 9 were dead, as well as one from District 6, and one from District 7. That left the three most terrifying districts— _of course_ they weren't dead yet— _Shiratorizawa, Jouzenji_ and _Aoba Johsai_ (whom Daichi wasn't completely sure about, but wasn't willing to find out on his own). 

No other faces lit up the sky and it left Daichi relieved. Hinata wasn't up there.

Neither were the pairs from Datekou, Nekoma and Fukurodani.  
  
Did that mean that Daichi heard wrong earlier? He could’ve sworn he heard a strangled cry for Akaashi.  
Did both tributes make it out alive?  
Was one gravely injured? 

Daichi shut his eyes tightly, trying to get his buzzing mind to sleep, and strangely enough it was working. 

_At least Hinata is alive._

His shoulders relax at the realization. Those incredible legs of his probably shot Hinata far away from any tribute he encountered. Albeit his exhaustion, Daichi ends up smiling proudly at himself, pleased with the smaller boy’s feat. 

 _‘Good, Hinata.’_ His mind states in a proud voice _. ‘I knew you could do it.’_  
  
At the thought, Daichi can feel his body immediately unwind, slumping down in relief. His head hits the trunk, and he crosses his arms tightly around his chest, makeshift spear resting on his thighs.  
   
He could finally truly rest. 

But before his eyes drift off into slumber, his lips open to mumble silently the three things he needs to accomplish throughout the next few days. 

  1. _Wake up before it gets too bright._
  2. _Find Hinata._
  3. _Avoid other tributes._



* * *

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
When Daichi wakes up the next day, he is dismayed to find that it is much later in the morning than he had hoped. 

Part _one_ of his plan was already a failure.  
  
He assumed he’d wake up out of habit and anticipation—but the sun was too high. Despite his disappointment, he sits up, running a hand through his hair calmly.  
  
He recites the other two parts of his plan in his head.  
  
Today he would do everything in his power to find Hinata.  
_Today_ he would do his best to avoid all other tributes. 

Water continues to be a priority, but since he has some in his rucksack, its fallen further down the list. 

* * *

The truth is water or not, _Hinata_ is still the first priority.

* * *

His mind flashes to the train he and Hinata were on not too long ago.

* * *

 _“…We’ll… be okay, right?” Hinata was peering upward, turning his face towards Daichi. Daichi could feel the moon beams illuminating the sides of his face, his eyes comfortably relaxing at the sight, half lidded and almost content._

_Daichi glances over at Hinata as reassuringly as possible. He grins, then ruffles Hinata’s messied hair._

_“…We’ll try our best.”  
_

* * *

He gets up, creating a makeshift strap with the twine for his spear, then heads out. Barely fifteen minutes into his hike, he reaches a small cliff not too far off from where he had slept. It has small ledges down the sides and odd roots sticking out here and there. The terrain is bumpy, with some areas stronger than others. Daichi’s boots would provide some traction, hopefully enough if he needed to scale down. 

. 

..

… 

It isn’t long as he walks along it until he hears indiscernible voices again.

* * *

He grunts, annoyed, looking around him for a place to hide. He decides to slide down the cliff as far as he can to avoid being seen. Daichi’s feet are resting on a root protrusion from the slope, saving him from tumbling down into what looked like hundreds of thorny (hopefully _not_ poisonous) bushes. He braces himself against the cliff, arms outstretched aside him, bracing hard against the cliff side, holding his breath and keeping absolutely still.

* * *

His grip begins to shake—he has never been this high before.

His legs are strong—but he isn’t sure how long they will last against the slope.

* * *

. 

.. 

…  
  
“Are you _sure_ there are safe places to hide over here?” The voice is energetic and unwavering. Daichi can hear _swishing_ sounds from branches being cut aside before recognizing the voice as _Bokuto_ , from District Five: Fukurodani. 

‘So they did make it out alive.’ He tells himself.  
Even with the projections in the sky, that scream he heard at the start of the Games made him doubt it.  
There was no way his mind could erase that sound and no way an individual could scream like that—not unless something terrible was happening. 

“Heh,” He hears a familiar lazy, feline drawl follow. He can almost picture the tribute crossing his arms and smirking. “The deeper we get into the forest, the heavier and denser the trees become. Hence, more hiding spots. Or did you not _notice_ that?” 

Daichi can hear the _‘ha_ ’, in the comment.  
  
Kuroo doesn’t sound kind, but Daichi can’t sense any malicious intent. In fact, he can actually sense a smile forming on the Nekoma tribute’s face. There’s still that playfulness in Kuroo’s voice that he had heard Kuroo use with Kenma, Hinata, and with Daichi himself. 

It sounded like two old friends bantering with each other.  
  
The scathing sarcasm was really only directed to Saeko, the Careers, and any Capitol citizen.  
Even so, the two (Bokuto and Kuroo) seemed to bond closer than most—like Hinata and Kenma, but in a completely different way.  
  
There was more prodding, more teasing, more playful gags.  
Just two boys constantly poking fun.  
  
Bokuto half-pouts, but ends up chuckling at Kuroo’s humor. “Wasn’t exactly paying attention to _that_.” From the energetic sound of his voice, Daichi imagines the silver-haired tribute must be wildly gesticulating to match the energy in his voice. Daichi cranes his head to get a better look, but can see only a slight image of them from his angle against the cliff. “You know, especially after seeing that bloodbath at the Cornucopia.”  
  
Kuroo’s voice instantly becomes serious.  
  
“You ran as quick as we did, didn’t you?”  
  
“Akaashi and I stayed a few moments longer to salvage what we could. Like I told you earlier…We headed straight for the Cornucopia.” He exhales heavily—his sigh coming out with a light shake. There is obvious discomfort there and soon there is a heavy silence. Daichi doesn't hear anything but light shuffling until Bokuto's district partner speaks. 

The voice is quiet and assured, although obviously fatigued and slightly winded. 

"…I'm fine. I said don't worry about it. It was the plan to begin with." 

 _So Akaashi really_ is _injured_ , Daichi thinks. 

"It's a good thing Kenma was able to help you. It could’ve just as easily bled out." Kuroo says, his footing makes scratching noises as he nudges Kenma gently with a grin. “He’s always been a quick thinker. Reliable.” Daichi doesn’t need to see him to know what he’s doing. Kuroo has turned to the smaller, knocking his head gently in an affectionate, uncannily catlike manner. 

Daichi is sure the Capitol citizens must be melting in their seats.  
He _almost_ rolls his eyes at the squeals resounding in his mind. 

Of course, there is no reply from the small pudding-headed tribute. Only a small nuzzling back at the contact of their faces, then a slight flush and a downward gaze. 

From where he is, he cannot see what the Fukurodani tributes are doing. 

"Yes, thank you." Akaashi has most likely turned his head to eye the smaller tribute because of the projection of his voice, with his voice actually taking on a kinder tone (instead of its usual monotone). 

There is another pause before Bokuto speaks up again. “…Who survived again?” His voice is low and somber, falling into one that sounds full of uncertainty. There seems to be a bit of melancholy in it as well, because the natural energy in his voice depletes. “I…sort of looked away when they projected the pictures last night. Didn’t want to see someone I talked to personally while training.”  
  
“All the Careers survived.” Akaashi responds quickly, though his voice is back to sounding completely deadpan. His face must match his tone. Kuroo scoffs, laughing humorlessly. He’s muttering under his breath. Something to the effect of: _Of course. They started the bloodbath to begin with.  
  
_ Akaashi continues. “I think both the tributes from three died… six also. But I’m not sure.” 

It was as if Akaashi also didn't want to remember any faces he saw last night. 

"You'd think Wakutani South would do better, being a wealthier district, but..."  
There is a smaller voice now, one that is just barely above a whisper.  
  
“…Shouyou is alright. I saw him run into the forest not long before we did.”  
  
Daichi bristles.  
  
Were they going to find Hinata?  
Was Daichi wrong about Kenma?

—Did Kenma say Hinata was alright?  
  
While he trained with Bokuto and Akaashi, Daichi didn’t spend nearly as much time with them. He was exposed to Kuroo more often, especially since Hinata and Kenma were drawn to each other like months to a flame. What was Kenma doing mentioning Hinata? What if Fukurodani the type to betray? 

They didn’t appear to be during training and because Kuroo seemed especially close with Bokuto but— 

Daichi didn't know, and that uncertainty made him uncomfortable.  
He bites his lip, tightening his hold against the rocks.

* * *

The arena can _change_ people.

* * *

But even with that vein of thought, somehow, when it came to Kenma possibly betraying Hinata, it surprised him. He couldn’t see it happening, even in the direst of circumstances.  
  
Bokuto purses his lips, head cocked slightly to the left, as if trying to match the name with a face. They are walking slower, much to Daichi’s chagrin. “Shouyou—ah,” Bokuto’s voice takes on a happy sound of pleased recognition, “— _Oooh!_ Hinata!” He shouts raspily. "I'm glad that kid's safe!” He lifts his hand up to his silvery-black streaked hair, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly.

By this time, Daichi has shifted to where he can see more of them now.   

They look a little dirty and tired, and one of them— _Akaashi_ —has a tight wrap around his right shoulder. Daichi squints, trying to gauge just how bad the injury may be, but the wrap looks clean. It must have been recently changed. His jacket is stuffed into a backpack that Bokuto has slung around him. Luckily, one of them was able to find, or at least _create_ a wrapping for that wound.   
  
Kuroo is carrying what looked like a sleeping bag. It was huge, although Kuroo didn't appear to have any trouble carrying it. He may have hidden supplies inside it. 

…No, with how cunning Kuroo is, he _has_ to be hiding supplies. 

* * *

Soon, the rubble and dirt under Daichi’s feet begins to loosen.

* * *

 

 Daichi's fingers grip the rocky surface once again, steadying his feet.  
  
He can’t hold on for much longer.  
Sooner or later, he would slip—

—or a pebble would fall and immediately give away his location.  
  
Bokuto turns his head to face the smaller, pudding-headed male in question, wondering if he knew more about Hinata’s predicament. His wide golden eyes are staring directly at Kenma, still held slightly cocked sideways in question. Kenma hunches over immediately— uncomfortably shy when Bokuto addresses him directly. Kenma turns, shuffling away from the silver-haired tribute to place himself on Kuroo’s other side (the side opposite where Bokuto was standing and incidentally the one _closer_ to where Daichi was hiding). Kuroo chuckles, ruffling Kenma’s hair affectionately.  
  
Kuroo answers for Kenma. “Don’t know much about what happened to the little guy.”  
  
“He must be fine.” Bokuto says ardently, putting his finger up to his chin in thought. “His jump during the interviews was insane. I got to see it more during training, but… every time, it would surprise me.” He grins, putting his hands on his hips. “But he still wasn’t any match against any of my hits!” He turns to his wounded partner, both hesitantly and imploringly. “Right, Akaashi?!” 

Daichi would have smiled at that, if not for the obvious crack in Bokuto’s voice.  
Bokuto had actually helped Hinata train and even gave him pointers on how to survive during their short time in the Capitol. Hinata was awestruck by Bokuto’s power and Bokuto, being strangely open and extremely friendly, was all too happy to help.  
  
Akaashi nods in agreement, both to placate his partner ( _“Yes, Bokuto, he wasn’t_ any _match_ at all _compared to you”_ ), and also as a clever way to segue into the next topic. “Don’t forget both he and the other tribute—“  
  
“Sawamura Daichi,” Kuroo states impassively, looking up at the sky, stretching his limbs languidly. He makes a low, purring sound as he stretches, eyes averting from forward to sideways—past Kenma. 

 _Right_ in Daichi’s direction.

* * *

Daichi thinks he saw Kuroo look over in his direction, eyes _almost_ but maybe not meeting— and he nearly loses his footing completely at the sudden chill and nervousness that shook and overthrew his body. 

_…!_

* * *

He swallows deeply, leaning himself more into the edge of the cliff.  
  
_‘Did I imagine that? Did he see me?’_

* * *

. 

.. 

… 

His heart is unrelenting, beating at unimaginable speeds.  
Kuroo shifts his feet.

Daichi swallows, his fingers digging deep into against the cliff side.

* * *

“Yes,” Akaashi responds quietly, “he received an eleven and his partner received a ten when it came to showing their skill set.” 

"Huh! That's right!" Bokuto is intrigued. He remembers seeing their scores on the big screen, not surprised by Hinata's score, but more so Daichi's. “That Sawamura,” he rests his hand on his hip, attempting to emphasize his point. “He didn’t do anything during training that stood out, did he? I mean, he learned quickly, but an eleven?” 

Bokuto glances over at Kuroo to find him grinning. 

"I think Sawamura has a little something-something up his sleeve." Kuroo says, shrugging, turning his head away from the cliff side to face Bokuto. 

_‘What?’_

Daichi isn't sure whether that meant they saw him as a threat or not—but thankfully, it seems Kuroo _didn’t_ see him hiding. As per usual, he couldn’t read Kuroo. Either way, he doesn’t sense anything to be alarmed by—other than the potential possibility that he could be seen. 

Bokuto then looks back at Akaashi and his injury. 

“…We’ll have to avoid them, then.”  
  
They _weren’t_ going to search for him and Hinata?  
So far, the similarities between him and them were unnerving.

 “What if they find us?” Akaashi prompts, looking up at Bokuto curiously. It was clear he was wondering what Bokuto had in mind. His hand gingerly touches his own shoulder, wincing. It must be much worse than it looks. There is a flash of concern on Bokuto’s face at this and he turns to his partner. Akaashi shakes his head, bowing slightly to signal that there was nothing to worry about. Bokuto purses his lips, frowning at the other.  “Akaashi…”    
  
Daichi’s attention shifts.  
He thinks he saw Kenma flinch.  
  
“They’re like us.” Kuroo interrupts, running a hand through his long, unruly hair. Whether or not he was purposely tempering the storm of emotions brewing in Bokuto was unknown.  
  
Like Hinata? Like Daichi?  
How are they like him and Hinata?  
There was the obvious but—  
What exactly is Kuroo talking about? 

Bokuto, mood instantly shifted, hums for a moment, then shrugs, crossing his arms determinedly before nodding his head. His eyes take on a look of concentration, narrowed to slits framed by his thick brows. “We’ll figure it out as soon as it happens then. For now,” he whispers, eyes making a sideward glance at his partner, “…let’s just find someplace safe.”  
  
And with that, they are gone.

* * *

Daichi balances himself as well as he can on the root he is situated on, deciding to go the opposite direction of them. The fact that he wasn't overall too concerned with both Fukurodani and Nekoma worried him. Maybe he had become too close with them during training, or maybe their exchange at the cliff got the better of him. Was he getting too complacent? Either way, Daichi does not want to let his guard down. 

He isn’t going to chance a meeting with all four of them against him alone. It would probably be too fortuitous an event to pass up. Even for them. 

* * *

_Things change in the arena._

* * *

. 

..

…

Another long hot day passes and Hinata still isn’t anywhere in view. Daichi cannot find any trace of him, but he is certain that no cannons have gone off since yesterday night. Daichi hasn’t been lucky enough to find a source of water either. He wonders absently if Hinata has. 

If he hadn’t…well, Daichi didn’t want to think about that. He makes sure to stop every now and then to rest and wipe the perspiration from his face. His feet had already begun to feel heavy in the dirt and leaves beneath them, but he doesn't want to sip his water yet. He feels like he can still go on.                                                                                                                                  
  
_Deep breaths, Sawamura_. 

. 

.. 

… 

He hears something crack not too far behind him.  
Every hair on his body stands on end, and his eyes frantically darting around for shelter.

Ironically—he realizes he is in the same area he was in the day before, with the same hollowed out tree in front of him. Quickly, he hides within it once again.

“Stopping to eat, eh? Pretty stupid idea if you ask me.” The voice is threatening and laughing. Daichi suspects they’ve found someone close by.  
  
“ _P-Please_ —“ There is another voice, more panicked and desperate, obviously from their new victim.. “I can help you! Just don’t—“ 

The events are followed by the sound of a blade being unsheathed. Daichi clenches his fists, knowing what is coming next. He moves, careful not to make any sounds, looking out the small slither of an opening inside the tree.  
  
“ _Don’t what?_ Kill you?” Another voice mocks, laughing hysterically. “There isn’t anything you could _possibly_ do that could help us.” 

Another tribute chuckles. 

“ _Other_ than dying that is.” 

There is a light, thumping sound as the sword is tapped against a log menacingly, _clunkclunkclunk_. It makes the time seem to go by slower, as if it’s there to “build excitement”. He can _hear_ the thrill in the tribute’s voice. It isn’t long after that someone yells tantalizingly.  “Do it!”—causing the dull clunking sound to immediately stop— causing it to be replaced by a quick swinging, _whooshing_ sound and finally a _squish._ There is a sharp intake of air before a spine-chilling thud.  
  
Daichi winces, fingers digging into the bark he was holding onto.  
  
Now only wails of laugher fill the air _,_ soon followed by the sound of a canon. The sound made when a tribute dies. 

The tribute chuckles, his sword clanging while he wipes it clean against his leg. 

“Let’s get going. There should be more hiding deeper in the forest.”  
  
Daichi clenches his fists tightly, waiting until the sounds of footsteps are completely gone. About ten minutes elapse before he finally decides to emerge from his hiding spot. Judging from the trail, he guesses that the group probably has around four people in it. 

An alliance. 

And judging from the voices, he could tell Terushima and Bobata from District 2 was among them. 

The voices between these two groups didn’t sound like old friends. It wasn’t like Kuroo and Bokuto.

 _They were intimidating and dangerous._  
  
He is looking around, alert, sneaking over to where he had heard the murder take place. He wonders if he will ever get used to these kinds of encounters while in the Games, or if hiding from others and hoping they do not kill you if they find you would become more commonplace. It kept his heart racing in the worst possible way. It physically hurt.

Ukai mentioned something about a hovercraft coming in to take the bodies after their deaths, but he hadn’t heard anything come for the body yet. He assumed it was probably because of the density of the forests. Most likely, it made it more difficult to come in.    
  
In any case, Daichi figures that maybe he can find something he can use on the dead tribute’s person. It sounded terrible, essentially _looting_ a body—taking something from someone who was just _killed_ , but in the Games, one person had to do everything they must to stay alive. 

This is what Daichi has to keep telling himself to stop the churning in his stomach. He feels sick having to do this, as if he’s succumbing to the Capitol’s obvious entertainment. 

Daichi thinks this over and over, trying to brace and prepare himself. 

. 

.. 

… 

When he finds the tribute, only a few hundred feet away from where he was, he can feel more intense stirring in his stomach and his heart suddenly drops. The tribute is laying face up, eyes wide and void of life, with dirt in the shape of a boot print plastered on his cheek.  
  
There is a gaping wound in his chest, skin broken and jagged ( _was that on purpose?_ ) while blood stained his shirt with a dirty, dark maroon color.  
  
Daichi swallows as he approaches, hands fidgeting, _shaking_ and trying hard to keep still— kneeling over the tribute, looking through his pockets.  
  
He is so concentrated on his task that he does not take the time to look at the tribute’s face— afraid that it will trigger something in him. He finds a collapsible water bottle inside the tribute’s pocket, along with a sizable, but also collapsible plastic bag. Hastily, he shoves the objects into his satchel. He is patting around the jacket when he reaches the top chest pockets—and immediately he is startled by the sudden splash of blue around the tribute's neck. 

When he cranes his head to see what it is, he notices the tribute is wearing a blue scarf, the edges stained with crimson.  
  
It’s remarkably similar to the _only_ blue scarf he ever remembers seeing.

* * *

The edges are even jagged, obviously homemade.

* * *

Daichi falters, hand freezing in its tracks right at the dead tribute's _too blue_ scarf.  
  
For a second, _everything_ floods back to him—as a sense of panic overwhelms him. Instantly, he turns his head up to look at the tributes face. 

* * *

_Everything stops.  
_

* * *

_  
_ The tribute looked to be around Daichi’s age. He had a lighter shade of hair—somewhere between a platinum blonde and bordering _uncomfortably_ close towards a light silver grey. Daichi's mind raced as he tried to put a name and district to this body that _wasn't_ , _couldn’t be_ someone _else's_ back at home—even if his mind desperately worried that it was. 

Within the flurry in his head, he can only remember the district from the uniform worn by the decreased tribute. 

"D-District 7, Ubugawa." He told himself shakily out loud, as if trying to keep out everything else. His hands are moving frantically to distract his mind.  
  
Daichi is rushing now to search every crevice of the tribute's jacket, finally finding a few crackers before hurriedly stepping back and away. He wants to get away from this tribute, to distance himself as much as possible. He _cannot_ allow his mind to turn this situation into something else. He _couldn’t_ be distracted.  
  
He does _not_ want to think about Sugawara left in this kind of condition.

* * *

 It’s the reason he volunteered in the first place.

* * *

Daichi is hastily walking away—almost stomping, clutching at his satchel, staring holes into the ground, hoping to distance himself both physically and mentally from the tribute. 

. 

.. 

…  
  
It isn’t _Sugawara_ that’s laying there, eyes wide and bleeding out.  
It isn’t _Sugawara_ who’d just been impaled mercilessly from navel to chest, _while Daichi himself did absolutely_ nothing _and kept_ _hidden away in safety.  
_  
It isn’t _Sugawara_ who’s laying there with his blue scarf, the one _Daichi_ had made him, the one they both cherished—that Daichi had secretly made out of his mother’s winter dress— stained through with Sugawara’s own blood.

* * *

 _It isn’t Koushi.  
It isn’t Koushi.  
It _ isn’t _Koushi  
  
_

_It isn’t—  
_

* * *

He stops in stride.  
  
Daichi shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth when a familiar rush of blue clearly invades his thoughts again. He swallows, looking back before taking a hesitant breath. 

As if running out of air, he begins to take deep, less shallow breaths, attempting to calm himself. 

Cautiously, Daichi surveys the area around him for any signs of imminent danger.  
Then he decides to make his way back. 

It was a stupid and dangerous decision, to return to that place where others could walk in at any time.  
It was _stupid_ being in an open area, not hidden and out of sight.  
But he couldn’t help it.

He _had_ to go back.  
  
He kneels down in front of the fallen body, reaching up to the tribute’s eyes, trembling hands gently letting them close and crossing the tribute’s arms across his chest.  
  
Daichi figures he probably could use the scarf for something, but he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ allow himself to take it. It probably meant something to this person, for him to be wearing it into the Games. One way or another, the tribute deserved some dignity and respect in his death. 

…Whether he looked like Suga or not, he is a victim in this sick Game too. 

Daichi stands up slowly, gazing down at the fallen tribute one last time. He then turns around and walks away, trying to ignore the heaviness in his heart and shakiness in his knees.

* * *

.

.. 

…  
Daichi is walking back to his camp, towards the hollowed tree he previously took shelter in. He collects a few pieces of wood and kindling on the way, hoping to start a small fire to cook his meat. He plans on eating as little as he can, saving the rest in the plastic bag he took from the dead tribute. He figures he’ll make the fire inside the hollowed tree to contain the smoke as much as he can to avoid attention from other tributes. The air will be hot and thick, but it's only for a short while. A small coughing fit and a grimy face wouldn't be too much trouble.  
  
The Careers must have been far away by now.  
At least he _hoped_ they were, because he didn’t have the mental capacity to deal with them right now. 

He takes refuge inside the tree, taking a seat on the hard ground which almost feels moist as he sits. Gently, he picks up the wood he collected before noticing a few stains of fresh blood on the tips of his fingers.  
  
It must’ve come from searching the fallen tribute’s body.  
  
A jolt of panic rushes through his body when his mind mistakenly pictures the dead tribute as Sugawara.  
The image flashes in his head, _too clearly_ — _too_ vividly.  
  
Daichi curses under his breath, hurriedly running his fingers down the sides of the fabric of his pants, removing as much of the tribute's blood as he could. There were still little dry bits that would probably come off with water, but he didn't want to waste any. Taking a breath, he exhales unsteadily, positioning the wood and kindling to begin making a fire. He can feel the stream of moisture forming on the sides of his face as he angles the wood between his hands.  
  
He wants to make the fire before the sun begins to set.  
At most, he only has an hour and a half left.

He spins the stick rapidly between his rough palms. Making a fire reminded him of his eighteenth birthday, and the single candle on top of his round, white cake. 

* * *

.

.. 

… 

_“…Again, to your last year of eligibility for the Reaping.” Suga looks up at Daichi, grinning, retaining that soft whisper. “…Here’s to hoping you’ll never be picked.”_

* * *

Flashes of the dead tribute invade Daichi’s thoughts and he panics, shaking his head and blinking, attempting to think of something else.

* * *

His mind immediately shifts to Hinata. He was there his eighteenth birthday as well. Daichi can remember how excited Hinata was, how his lips curled upward in a smile as—

 _Hinata._  

Just where the hell was he? Was he deeper within the forest? Somehow on the other side of the clearing?  
  
As he spins the stick between his hands, his mind begins to wander. He questions Hinata's whereabouts.

What if he was in the direction the tributes earlier were headed?  
 Just how far could he have run?  
  
Daichi didn't always watch the Games, so he isn't sure how big the arena could be. Not seeing a single trace of the boy for over a day, the arena must have been huge.  
  
Daichi has only heard a single cannon shot that day and it was for the murdered tribute from District 7. It meant that Hinata is still alive _or surviving_ at least. He was much too agile to be caught so quickly. 

He persists. 

Did Hinata have water?  
  
They weren’t in optimal conditions and Daichi knew that realistically— a tribute wouldn’t be able to go without water for two, maybe three days if they were lucky. Daichi had been sweating from his non-stop run, his body feeling exhausted from both the mental and physical exertion—and he hadn’t even been confronted face to face yet. 

Hinata had to have been the same.  
There was just too much panic—too much physical activity and water loss to last much longer without external hydration on hand. 

* * *

                                  
  
.

.. 

…  
  
After nearly forty minutes and no fire to show for it, he clenches his teeth. Despite all the practice in the training room, he still couldn’t make a decent fire. His palms are beginning to feel uncomfortably humid. He is sure the splinters from the wood are embedding themselves into his hands, now feeling a stinging burn. It’s at that instant that the wood instantly _snaps_ —and Daichi feels one wood splint cut him particularly deep, making him hiss impatiently. 

_Hinata.  
_

* * *

Flashes of blue invade his mind again, this time, with Sugawara.

* * *

“Ngh—“ Daichi grunts—and when his hand slips again, the wood splits completely, making a loud cracking noise and cutting him so deeply that the wood is actually imbedded into his palm. He shouts out in frustration and kicks the wood in front of him, angrily throwing the split wood in his hand aside.  
  
He now has barely thirty minutes before sunset and he hasn’t been able to even form _smoke_ , let alone any embers. He looks at his shaking palm, a trail of warm blood dripping down from where the wood had shoved itself into. He takes his opposite hand—yanks out the piece of wood before he can react to the pain and throws it aside. He picks out, as best as he can— whatever splinters remain on his bloodied hand. He pulls his satchel up, rips its cover unevenly with the arrowhead, then wraps it around his palm. He makes a tight fist, trying to stop the bleeding, gritting his teeth at the throbbing, stinging sensation. Slowly, he pulls his knees up to his chest, leaning his head into his knees. He can feel his body again begin to shake as he takes a few deep breaths to calm himself. 

He could feel his palm pulsing under the wrap, as if his heartbeat was right there.  
He shuts his eyes.  
  
It was only a few days into the Games, and his mind was already playing merciless games on him.  
  
With a small grunt, he lifts his head up, reaching over to pick up larger pieces of the broken wood. It was warm. Hurriedly, he leans down, continuing to spin the wood between his hands. He ignores the sharp, shooting pain in his hand and the throbbing headache forming at his temples. He is focused on making this fire.    

Daichi can feel more sweat streaming around his forehead, but he refuses to stop. After ten minutes, the blood in his hand is seeping through the fabric of the rucksack cloth, but he still continues. He is starting to get angrier, he can feel his brows furrow and his teeth clench, but he persists. 

_It isn’t Sugawara._

_It_ can’t _be Sugawara.  
  
Hinata is fine.  
Hinata _ can’t _be dead.  
  
_ He— 

. 

.. 

… 

When there is finally smoke, he gulps, leaning down to blow at the small embers, encouraging them to grow. A small fire finally starts from the smoke. Daichi then clumsily pulls out the pieces of rabbit meat that he butchered prior, staking them through with a few pieces of wood, struggling to cook them as thoroughly and as quickly as he can.  
  
As soon as the rabbit is cooked, he eats small pieces, making sure to savor each bite and swallows slowly. He takes a small sip out of his water bottle before packing everything and putting them back into his satchel. He makes sure he's covered up his fire before sitting back to rest.  
  
Completely exhausted, he leans his head back on insides of the tree trunk, shutting his eyes. He extends his legs, crossing his arms on his chest, staring forward listlessly. His eyes are blank, mouth slightly open.  
  
The sun is beginning to set.  
  
He should start moving.

. 

.. 

…Despite that _still_ , he sits there, staring forward, wasting precious minutes before finally hoisting himself up and trudging back into the forest. He wants to rest on high ground, away from everything and up in a tree—and not on ground level. 

* * *

. 

.. 

…

 

_“…We’ll be okay, right..?”  
_

* * *

The forest around Daichi has grown considerably darker, to the point where he sometimes needed to squint to see ahead of him. Ever since his ordeal with the tribute with the blue scarf, his constant concern for Hinata's safety, his difficulty with making a fire and his cut hand, his mind has become blearier, taking more effort for him to _resist_ drinking any more water, to sit down and sleep.   

. 

.. 

… 

Everything has been eerily quiet, no screams, no cannons, and thankfully, no _other_ run ins with other tributes. 

After trudging around, following only his instincts, he finds a wide, tall tree to rest in. On his walk, he had been collecting sturdy yet flexible overgrown vines, coiling them like a rope. They weren't nearly as strong as rope itself, but he figured it would be enough to stabilize himself on a branch.

The moment he finds a suitable tree, one wide and jagged enough for him to climb without too much effort, he is grateful that he has just enough to strength left to climb it. Daichi had never been much of a climber—but he figured he was finally getting just a bit of luck today because his feet are sticking perfectly into niches in the trunk, helping himgain leverage. Even with one shaking hand, he has enough upper body strength to hoist his heavier, stockier body up the trunk. He lifts himself up high enough to be hidden by the branches of the neighboring trees.

* * *

He grimaces at the wound on his hand, his climbing having done nothing but aggravate it. The cloth is more saturated with blood now. He frowns, deciding to use his thigh to add pressure onto it for a few minutes. Daichi reaches behind him, takes the vines he gathered, then wraps them around himself until they are thick enough to support him. Staring up at the sky expectantly, he waits for the faces of the fallen to be projected onto the night sky.  
  
The blood in his hand dampens through the cloth on his thigh only slightly. He figures it must’ve coagulated. 

Daichi resists the inclination to roll his eyes when the melodramatic music comes on. He was too exhausted. Weary eyes gaze up at the sky. The Capitol is corny and bizarre, especially inside the arena and the hazed condition of his mind. 

It’s out of place.  
_Blatantly_ disregarding and disrespectful of those who had just lost their lives.

* * *

Lower than animals. 

* * *

No projection from one, two or four. _Surprise._ The only face that appears is the one of the murdered tribute from District 7, the one with the damned blue scarf. Daichi’s eyes look elsewhere for a little bit, down to his bandaged and bloody hand, and soon enough the projection fades away. 

He can feel his head bob slightly in exhaustion as he gazes upward once more _just to check_ , his attention beginning to wane. When the music stops, he finds himself smiling lightly in relief.  
  
Hinata really _is_ _safe_. 

His lips curl upwards slightly, his voice quiet.  
  
“I knew it.” He told himself, eyes fully closed and head bobbing lightly forward. “…He’s…safe.”

* * *

. 

.. 

…

  
By the fourth evening, Daichi still has not seen Hinata at all. They both must have been moving quickly, in opposite directions, at the same time. The third day had gone by so quietly that Daichi was left suspicious, as he was hanging, waiting for more. He hated it. He wasn’t able to sleep well that night, fearing that the Capitol would unleash something on him. His mind morphed an image of rabid animals that the Capitol engineered—ghost-like creatures staggering to disorient and traumatize tributes or at the very _least_ , help point the Careers in his direction— but nothing had happened. 

No canons had gone off either. 

Daichi knew there was big handful of them left— which included _all_ the Careers—so no matter _how silent_ it was, it was a matter of concern and he had to keep on his toes.  
  
Daichi was lucky enough _not_ to run into any aggressive tributes for the rest of the day, spending most of his time exploring the areas, looking for plausible hideouts and hunting for food. Most of his traps had failed to catch anything, but in the end, he caught another small rabbit. He grimaced. He hadn’t started a fire since the second day, doing well to save bits of the first rabbit he had caught.  After the ordeal a few days ago, he really wasn’t looking forward to starting another. 

He watches the sky slowly change colors as the sun begins to set.  
  
He sighs, hoping to at least find another suitable tree to take shelter in. He didn’t do a good job of keeping track of the time today. More importantly, he wasn’t stupid enough to start a fire when darkness came. 

. 

.. 

… 

He would go without eating tonight. Fires in the dark were just a green light to encourage others to come find you and kill you. He remembers Ukai's strict advice about that— and Daichi wasn't one to flag down all the damn Careers in the middle of the night, with barely any strength on his side.

* * *

Careers trained until the very day they volunteered to be a part of this dressed up murder scene.  
They jumped into the Hunger Games overzealous and thirsty for the blood of others to stain their hands for the glory and pride of their district.

* * *

It was all they knew. 

It _had_ to be, because how could people with any _real_ idea of friendship, families, _the intrinsic value of human beings_ believe that the Games were something to look forward to? _Something that was meant to happen?_

 

* * *

_How does the Capitol continue to shape otherwise normal children into murderers?_

* * *

They were manipulated by the Capitol to kill under the guise of bringing pride to their districts. They probably didn’t even know it. They probably think they’re heroes. Still, he couldn’t forgive the reckless killing. Especially the actions of those that actually _enjoyed_ it.  
**  
** Daichi pauses in front of another large tree, looking up at it in curiosity before shrugging and deeming it good enough for shelter that night. This part of the forest seems to be especially dark and particularly dense. After wandering for practically two days straight with barely any conflict, Daichi almost feels like he knew the trees well, but is sure he hasn't covered the entirety of the arena. Daichi could barely see in front of him and the sun continued to be in the process of setting. 

He sets his spear aside, down onto the ground a few feet away from him. He is examining the bark in front of him for any cracks he can use to aid him while climbing. His wound from the other day was still throbbing painfully and he wanted to use it as little as possible— so that it’d be healed when and if he needed it.  
  
.  
  
.  
  
…  
  
When he leans forward to lay his hands on the trunk, head almost leaning tiredly against it, he is immediately stopped dead by a voice. 

“ _Hey_.” He hears footsteps come up behind him, leaves shoved aside as the voice came closer, cold steel pressed against his back. “ _Resting_ for the night?” 

Daichi freezes, eyes zipping to his spear. He can’t believe he set it on the ground in a moment of vulnerability. He growls, tensing up, before turning his head to look at the tribute, his eyes cold and now void of emotion.  
  
This is it.  
He would die here, because of his own stupidity. His spear is inches away, too far to grab it without being killed first.  
  
A sword is already against his back.

.  
  
..  
  
...  
  
  
_Somehow_ , he imagined he’d be panicking more the moment he was confronted.  
   
But he isn’t panicking.  
If anything, Daichi just feels _annoyed.  
_ Annoyed that he’s in this situation, annoyed that he let his guard down.   

He turns his head, slightly, but not enough to see the tribute behind him under the blanket of darkness.  
He frowns deeply, more to himself than anything else.

His instincts proved wrong. 

And now it was going to cost him his life. 

. 

.. 

…

  
“…Tch,” Daichi replies, gritting his teeth. “If you’re going to _do it_ , then just do it fast.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Author K]: Um, *waves nervously and smiles* hello there! Remember me? I just wanted to apologize for the ridiculously long time it took to update this. Life got the better of us the past couple of months and one way or another, we’ve constantly found ourselves busy or aha, unbelievably stressed. This chapter was extremely difficult to write because we had to chart out what we had planned for each day of the Hunger Games to make sure things make sense with other characters as well. This chapter needed help and a good amount of editing. I know it doesn’t seem like much is happening for now with Daichi, but we’ll see what happens, right? :3 I hope his emotion came through properly. He was never intended to go to the Hunger Games. It was his last year of eligibility. 
> 
> And just because Daichi hasn’t had many things happen to him yet, doesn’t mean Hinata and the rest of the tributes are having such a great time…  
> We hope you all enjoyed the chapter! 
> 
> Also: Thank you guys SO much for all the feedback in the last chapter! Despite how busy we’ve been, they’ve literally brought us over the moon! We got more comments than we ever got for a chapter, as well as more kudos. I know I’ve said it every time, but I can’t describe how much it means. We edit these chapters several times and put a lot of thought into them, so it’s always wonderful to have that kind of response. Thank you all so much for hanging in there with us.
> 
> Thank you also to those of you who recommending this fic! That’s one of the best compliments you guys could ever give us. <3 
> 
> Please do continue to comment and review. ;A; Please don’t forsake us, we need sustenance! LOL  
> You guys are what keeps us going and thank you again for all your support! 
> 
> Next chapter, expect to see what’s going on with our lovely cats and owls! Perhaps they aren’t faring as well as they seem… 
> 
> [Author M]: Hello again, it's been a good 10 years! We didn't mean to write a cliffhanger and then have you wait half a year for this, that wasn't our intention. The last half of 2015 was tough on the both of us, mostly on Author K, and this chapter didn't start out too well, so it needed a lot of fixing. We did what we could, and are putting this out so we can finally get working on the next few chapters. To the person I told that we would get this out by the end of last October—well, that was the original plan. My apologies! Anyway, this chapter has a lot of downtime, but the next few chapters should be a little more exciting. Thanks for all your patience and understanding!


	11. Kuroo Tetsurou

**11\. Kuroo, Tetsurou**

**  
  
**_It is their last few days in the Capitol.  
Their last days of “guaranteed” survival.  
It doesn’t really feel any different—not that he actually expected it to.  
  
It was funny, to say the least, how some tributes went about it. It amused him, amused him to see how people would suddenly derive a plan or list for themselves to do days prior to the Hunger Games—or how in general, people _ pretended _to be_ noble _before faced with death.  
  
As if _ one big heroic act _would somehow absolve them from a life of selfishness and greed._

_Heh.  
  
People always change when death comes into the picture._

_But maybe that’s because the prospect of death and one’s mortality tends to theoretically open one’s eyes.  
  
The finality of it all.  
  
You died, and then that was it.  
Over.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
It _ wasn’t _that way with Kuroo.  
  
He _ didn’t _change when the Hunger Games came into the picture because he had always done what he wanted._

_It was just that simple.  
  
_

_How simple? Well, if there was a need to do something, Kuroo_ would do it— _regardless of the consequences. Of course there were times he suffered harshly from those consequences—and there were times he couldn’t hide the bruises, or the exhaustion, or the way his hands shook with fatigue the next day from working in the fields.  But it was all worth it—because the_ reasons _he_ did them for _were worth_ everything. _  
  
He wasn’t stupid.  
He wasn’t rash.  
It wasn’t as if he rushed into things without thinking.  
  
It was just that in the end, all possible (negative) scenarios were outweighed. Something _ else _(or rather_ some _one_ _else)_ was _always more important. Everything else— all possible negative scenarios didn’t matter._

 _As far as he was concerned, it was just clutter.  
Clutter.  
  
Because he didn’t regret a single choice he had ever made in his life.  
Punishments and all.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
He had attempted to be subordinate, as much as he or anyone else could possibly be in these living situations. He bit his tongue to stop himself from speaking when his pride was hurt a little _ too _much (who needs pride anyway?) because he wasn’t_ looking _for a reason to get killed.  
  
(Every now and then he couldn’t help but give a scathing remark right back.  
Luckily, peacekeepers and Capitol citizens weren’t exactly the brightest bunch.  
They never could tell when he was throwing snide insults at them.)  
  
He didn’t _ need _to find a reason to act the way he did or do the things he wanted to. If he disliked someone, then he wouldn’t pretend to like them. If he loved someone, then he wouldn’t pretend he didn’t.  
  
There wasn’t any time to hesitate about things like that. Not in this kind of world.  
  
Because what people_ didn’t _understand was that they were faced with death every day.  
  
People shouldn’t _ need _to change when actually reaped into the Hunger Games because of the potential of one’s own death.  
  
They’re faced with that potential _ every day _.  
  
He didn’t need a Reaping to tell himself that.  
He knew what he wanted, what he wanted to do, what he wanted to say.  
  
And because of that, he never attempted to hide how he felt towards Kenma—not since the day— no, not since the_ _exact moment he realized it._

_It wasn’t anything glamorous.  
It wasn’t anything said over a dinner or during a walk in the woods.  
There was no “perfect moment”.  
  
They were simply lying on their couch—quiet—as they always were after a hard day in the fields.  
  
It was somewhere in the moment where he had his face nuzzled into the top of Kenma’s pudding head, arms sneaked around the smaller one’s waist that he realized it. _

_And he just said it._

_“I love you.”_

 

* * *

_In the end, Kuroo supposed he was like everyone else.  
  
He wanted to survive, just like everyone else in the district.  
He wanted to survive _ with _Kenma.  
_  
He wanted and needed to _be_ with Kenma.  
And he _knew_ Kenma needed to be with him.

 

* * *

_  
._

_.._

_…  
  
Kuroo never forced anything. _

_Sure, Kuroo teased Kenma here and there, maybe even embarrassed him.  
But when it came down to it, Kuroo knew where the line was, and he never crossed it.  
  
He never pushed Kenma into a situation he absolutely didn’t want to be in, never put him into a situation that was genuinely discomforting for the other. He could always read Kenma, read his body language. Kuroo could see how Kenma’s body would flinch, curl away in fear when approached with something he didn’t want to deal with. It was different from how he would flinch or curl away when he was feeling shy or unsure. His body wouldn’t tighten the way it would when he was in fear and his eyes wouldn’t change.  
  
His eyes.  
  
Kuroo could see how Kenma’s eyes would change in a moment of fear or self-doubt, how amber-feline eyes that always looked blank to those who _ didn’t _know him (because Kuroo knew Kenma was thinking fervently about anything and everything—and_ nothing _about him was ever,_ ever _blank) would suddenly widen in distress, head pulled back like a cat cowering, frightened in a corner, trying to make itself look as big and intimidating as possible when it was really breaking inside._

_Despite that, despite wanting to protect Kenma— Kuroo never wanted to hold Kenma back._

_It was terrifying at first, that knowledge that any and all actions could mean the worst of consequences.  
  
  
(It was so much easier accepting these consequences when they were aimed at him and not at Kenma.)  
  
  
Kuroo knew that while he needed to protect Kenma, he could not coddle him. Regardless their situation, regardless of the fact they came from a district with minimal education, Kenma was brilliant minded, even over those who_ did have _a formal education. He was extremely observant, and if given a little push, was fully capable of being deviant himself._

_But Kenma was good. He had no desire to bring attention towards himself, no desire to cause any significant trouble. He played it “safe” (though the meaning of this word varied in their district), ultimately doing anything and everything so that he and Kuroo could survive peacefully for as long as they could—to some extent._

 

* * *

 _  
_ _When Kuroo confessed to Kenma, it was matter of fact.  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
As with everything that related to them, there were no dramatic gestures, no special actions—nothing. _

_Kuroo could feel how Kenma stiffened—not out of discomfort, but out of slight surprise, hands slackening from his game as he turned his head to look over.  
  
Tangled up together on their small couch, in their dark home, a small smile showed on Kenma’s face.  
That was that.  
  
Kuroo was content. He said what he needed to say.  
  
Simple gestures here and there.  
That was enough.  
  
And truly, Kenma didn’t _ have _to return Kuroo’s feelings at all.  
What Kuroo had was enough.  
  
_

* * *

_  
But the thing was, Kenma_ did _return them.  
And he showed Kuroo that _ all _the time—in his own quiet Kenma-like way.  
  
The way his body would subtly lean back into Kuroo.  
The way he would let out an inaudible sigh of relief every time Kuroo arrived home on time and unscathed.  
The way his body would curl up against Kuroo’s when it was late at night.  
The way his fingers would curl up against his side, reaching slightly over to Kuroo, tugging or grabbing onto anything he could take hold of. A piece of fabric—or maybe even Kuroo’s hand._

_It seemed that Kenma didn’t waste time with hesitation either.  
  
_

* * *

 

_They’d been together ever since._

 

* * *

_It’s been several years now, and despite all the horrors they’ve faced in their district, they’ve been alright, because they had each other to rely on.  
  
Their district was rougher than most (of that Kuroo was sure, even if he had never seen the other districts in his life). They resided in the second poorest district of all—though he didn’t think even District Karasuno endured some of the horrors that District Nekoma did.  
  
Sure, maybe Karasuno was poorer, but that didn’t exactly mean things were worse.  
  
Karasuno was the district of mining—and Nekoma was the district for agriculture. While mining was important, it wasn’t _ essential _to the Capitol the way food was and always_ will be _essential.  
  
Because of that, Kuroo doubted that Karasuno’s borders had buzzing electrical fences that covered the edges of their District, doubted that they had traps— spears (that were rigged to fly out of nowhere and impale you on sight if you didn’t immediately hear them) right outside of their district in case anyone got out into the forest around them. He doubted that they had endured the weekly beatings that Nekoma endured, the times peacekeepers just felt like they wanted to prove a point—or even _ no point _at all, armed only with a sick pleasure to keep frightened people frightened—just in case you were feeling adventurous one day and decided to break the rules and steal the crops_ you _planted because you were starving and the aching throb in your growling stomach wasn’t getting any better—_ and your family wasn’t getting any better _—only more and more tired,  weary and malnourished from the same old scraps they had each day._

_Day in, day out._

 

* * *

_  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Living—surviving—in District Nekoma was extremely difficult. You learn at much too early an age that the world is merciless and cruel. You learn that all the hard work you expend every day is not for you and that it never will be._

_You learn that everyday could be your last and that disappearing into the night was commonplace.  
You learn that people in your own district sometimes _ pretend _that those lost into the night never existed._

 _But despite all that, Kuroo still wakes every morning, eyes tired and burning from exhaustion from the day before on their small run-down mattress, in their dim house, next to someone he loves_ dearly _and more than anything.  
  
Grateful that they’re both still alive.  
Grateful that unlike many of those in their district, they had each other and the support of people they trusted, even if they were few and far between.  
  
_

* * *

_  
_ Kuroo's eyes blink repeatedly, waking himself up from his thoughts. _  
  
_

* * *

_  
It’s the morning where Kuroo finds Kenma at the dam with the little orange head from Karasuno._

_“Kenma!”  
  
He’s wandered off. _ Again.

* * *

_  
Kuroo never liked it when Kenma wandered— because it always gave him a bad feeling that he could never shrug off. It was a sensation that made him feel that if he lost Kenma somehow, Kuroo would never find him again.  
  
_

* * *

_  
_  
_Kuroo knew he didn’t need to search far. His eyes honed into the littlest member of the Karasuno team—that bright orange hair—and immediately notes the less jarring pudding-head next to him. When Kenma raises his eyes to Kuroo, hands gingerly holding onto a small piece of watermelon, Kuroo raises his hand up into the air, subtly asking for him to follow._

_“The mentor wants to show us something.” Kuroo locks eyes with the little orange haired tribute—but only for a moment. Almost comically, Hinata still seemed a bit nervous when approached. The little tribute must not be used to being around people bigger than him, or maybe Kuroo and Bokuto came off a little more daunting than they know.  
  
_

_Hinata would have to get over that in the arena, if he wanted to survive.  
  
_

_“…Ah.” Kenma smiles softly at Hinata (and Kuroo muses for a moment that if the little Karasuno member knew how rare it was to get a smile out of Kenma, especially not having known him long at all—he might have been proud)._

_Kuroo has already turned away at this point, knowing Kenma will follow. He hears the ‘thump’ from the garbage (as Kenma disposes of his watermelon) before hearing a soft pattering of steps follow after him.  
  
“I’ll see you at the tribute dinner tomorrow, Shouyou...” Kenma nods his head, blond hair motioning the movement. He seems to pause at his next words. “…Sorry I made you worry.”  
  
Made him worry?  
What about?  
  
But Hinata doesn’t respond, and at this moment Kenma has finally caught up to him. Kuroo makes a motion to nod at Hinata before wrapping an obvious arm around Kenma’s hunched shoulders, nuzzling his head affectionately against the other’s. _

_He’s surprised he doesn’t feel Kenma flinch—neither of them are used to grand displays of affection in public. He’s even more surprised when Kenma lifts his head up to look at him, rubbing his cheek against Kuroo’s shoulder._

_They may have been playing this act for the Capitol, but the action had been real.  
  
And despite everything, despite all the foreboding doom and the circumstances they are in, Kuroo can’t help but to bring himself to smile.  
  
He tightens his hold on Kenma’s shoulder when the citizens come out of nowhere (this time Kenma _ does _flinch), squealing and cooing at their actions._

_Kenma’s eyes slowly flit up to Kuroo, looking away before rubbing his pale lips together. He hunches in Kuroo’s arms, not out of discomfort from Kuroo, but discomfort from the nosy people around them. He was looking to shield himself.  
  
Kuroo knew that.  
_

 

* * *

_  
Kenma leans into him.  
  
_

* * *

_There were whispers and shouts everywhere they went._

‘They really are beautiful, aren’t they?’  
‘It’s just like one of our dramas!’  
‘They’re definitely the ones I’m rooting for!’

Rooting _for?  
  
_

* * *

_  
He could physically feel how much it took for Kenma had to stop himself from scowling.  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
Kuroo makes an immediate turn in his step, heading into a darker alley. They may have been using their love story as a means to gain favor from the Capitol, but that didn’t mean he was going to make Kenma feel anxious for longer than he needed to.  
  
“You want to wander a little or go back to our room?” _

_Relieved, Kenma shakes his head. “…Let’s go back.”_

_While strongly advised to appease these Capitol citizens, one could only listen to them for a few moments before possibly getting angry or going insane.  
  
Kuroo was _ not _inclined to do something on impulse that he’d likely regret.  
_

* * *

_  
Tch.  A Game, that’s all it was to the citizens. A Game where they chose their favorites and cried when they died.  
  
And one of the worst parts?  
That the humiliation doesn’t end at the moment of death.  
No, of course not.  
  
The truth was, the Capitol never destroyed an arena after it was used. They left it out for the world to see, for Capitol citizens to ‘tour’ and re-enact their favorite deaths or scenes._

_Was that what would happen to him and Kenma?  
  
Would citizens waltz into whatever arena was made for them, reenacting something they saw on television? Of course they would—they were nothing more than fictional (real) characters on a show._

_“Heh.” Kuroo finds himself smirking, because he has no intention of that happening to him or Kenma. He and Kenma were smart, clever—Kenma even more so than_ he, _and they would absolutely utilize_ everything _they had to get out of the situation.  
  
And there was no doubt that they would.  
They would make it, because they had each other.  
They were and always have been a strong team.  
  
“…What?” _

_Kuroo’s eyes drop down to Kenma again, smirking a bit before leaning the side of his head down, nuzzling the side of Kenma’s hair._

_“Just thinking about the looks of these guys faces when we win.”  
  
“...Hm.” Kenma relaxes into Kuroo’s grip, now relaxed, leaning into him again.  
  
He can feel Kenma smile at that, turning as they headed towards the direction of the building that housed them, Kenma’s small fingers curling up on his side, grazing Kuroo’s side in a sort-of comforting and agreeing notion.  
  
There was no time to hesitate.  
They would win, but not lose themselves in the process.  
  
_

* * *

_They were more than that.  
They always knew they were.  
_

* * *

_  
When they enter the building, there are people sitting in the expansive lounge area, a few people he even recognizes, all gesticulating to each other, some scuffing their feet on the expensive, shimmering floors. Design teams, mentors, escorts, sponsors—even past Hunger Games winners who came to watch the show in the Capitol._

_Whether or not they came of their own free will was uncertain._

_Usually past victors were interviewed, brought out of the dark to be reminded of how they won, how they felt, and_ just how good _it felt to win—or how good it felt to win_ for the Capitol _. And while many of them were smiling, running hands through their hair and singing praises for the Capitol, Kuroo doubted all of them meant their words. There had to be those that_ didn’t _mean what they were saying—only said them because the Capitol wanted them to, so the Capitol would leave them alone._

 _Their mentor,_ Yaku _, always told them that back at home.  
  
_

_‘The Hunger Games doesn’t end with your “victory”. You have to re-live it—every day— for the rest of your life.’  
  
_

* * *

_  
They don’t let you forget.  
  
_

* * *

 

   
_Not all victors were blood-thirsty Careers that had somehow deluded themselves into thinking they had done a public service, that they had paid some kind of honor to their districts by winning. He even ventured to think that maybe not all the Careers felt the same way. Some of them_ had _to know the truth of what the Hunger Games was.  
  
The truth?  
  
It wasn’t about honor.  
It was about punishment.  
  
Kenma slows in his stride, eyes turned discreetly towards the Careers.  
He’s quiet.  
Focused.  
  
It’s at that moment Kuroo begins to listen in on the voices inside the hotel lobby._

 

* * *

 _  
  
“We’re always very happy to see you here, Tooru!” There is a string of disembodied, high pitched screams of excitement in the background, piercing from every direction. The eagerness the Capitol had upon his visits never changed even years after his victory.  
  
“Haha,” His mouth breaks into a bright, handsome smile, his chocolate brown eyes shutting in response, head tilting slightly with the action. “Always a pleasure to see you all too.” His voice is smooth—handsome—(if a voice could ever be described as _ handsome _it would_ _most definitely_ be _his_ ) _dripping with a tone that_ sounded _kind, but actually made Kuroo feel sick. The reporter blushes at this, averting her eyes for a moment before clearing her throat. There is a subtle shake in her grip on the microphone as she shyly reaches up a hand to pull a stray strand of hair behind her ear. She swallows lightly, attempting to gain composure of herself.  
  
Always the favorite, that one.  
Oikawa Tooru.  
The _ Darling _of the Capitol._

 _But then without warning, he speaks, loud and clear: “_ Hajime _is busy at the moment, but I’m sure he would say the same too.”_

 _Kuroo blinked.  
He didn’t think it was possible for that smile to get any bigger, but it did.  
  
The answer from the reporter is immediate (almost rushed?) and there is no response made in relation to the mention of the victor’s partner. It doesn’t even look as if onlookers notice, but the reporter subtly averts her eyes (different this time, not out of giddy embarrassment from garnering the attention of someone beautiful like Oikawa, but one of haste—one of_ rushed avoidance— _before moving on). “So how do you think the tributes this year will fare in comparison to yours?”_

 _At the change of subject, there is a slight pause before Oikawa answers, and his smile remains—though now there is a different glint in his eyes. One of his formerly clenched hands loosen and stretch out at the palms (Kuroo can see the whites in his palm from how tightly he held his fists). Oikawa then widens that smile, with countenance bright (a little_ too _bright)._

_._

_.._

_…  
  
“_ Well _,” Oikawa states, in that same smooth voice (which—of this, Kuroo isn’t sure—but seems to have acquired some bite in it), “I’m sure it’ll have some sort of_ **spin** _towards the end, mm?” He laughs attractively, hair lightly bobbing in response as the interviewer giggles along with him. It was a bit of a morbid reply, but Oikawa looked amused (or at the very least, was doing a good job keeping up the façade). Kuroo didn’t know the details, but he knew that Iwaizumi Hajime was Oikawa Tooru's district partner a few years ago and that their final stand in the arena included a literal bloody whirlpool of sorts._

Spin _indeed.  
  
_

* * *

_  
Kuroo makes his way to the elevator once Kenma begins to walk again. Kenma isn’t interested in staying in the lounge anymore. He wants to get away and by now, Kuroo feels the same._

_Slowly and languidly, he removes his arm from Kenma’s shoulders, lifting an arm to press the up button. It was amazing how quick a person could get used to such luxuries when they had been accustomed to having nothing._

_“Heading up too?”  
  
Kuroo finds himself smirking instantly. He turns his head, met with amber eyes and silver, black streaked hair. Bokuto’s partner, Akaashi, is, as always, silent.  
  
“Looks like it.” There is a natural lilt at the end of Kuroo’s sentence because he genuinely enjoyed the tribute’s company, so much so they would gang up to tease some other tributes (usually Daichi, because that Sawamura was just _ that _fun to play with), head to the cafeteria together and just talk. It sounded funny when he thought about it, sharing drinks with a supposed ‘enemy’ but he only shrugs at the thought as the elevator slides open.  
  
They all enter, (Kenma shuffling in, situating himself near a corner) as they are lifted up several floors. The elevator has large glass panels from all sides, the type that made you dizzy if you were looking down from the windows as it rapidly sped to the top. _

_“What floor?”  
  
There were commodities in their building. The cafeteria, in case they felt like eating someplace other than in their suites, several lounging rooms, all adorned with fountains and plants nearly as tall as the ceiling. Flat screen televisions everywhere—though _ sensible _tributes generally avoided them.  
  
They didn’t need reminders of what they were about to face.  
  
_

_“Five.” Bokuto answers wearily.  
  
Kuroo raises a brow, turning his gaze towards the other. Five, then that meant Fukurodani would be heading straight to their suite. Kuroo reaches his hand up to the elevator buttons.  
  
Five.  
  
Usually Bokuto and he would banter a bit before it became silent.  
But not today.  
  
Then he raises his hand to his and Kenma’s floor.  
  
Eleven._

_His eyes turn over to Bokuto and Akaashi, both standing stoically as the elevator begins to move. He is about to turn, make some snide-but-friendly comment to Bokuto when he notices Bokuto’s hand clench against his side.  
  
He’s shaking. His lips are pressed together and his eyes are focused.  
He and Akaashi are both stiff, almost unsure. Hesitant.  
  
Nothing like they usually are.  
Confident. Resolute.  
  
When the door opens to let the two out, Kuroo is unable to say or do anything but nod his head at Bokuto. There isn’t anything he can do. His mouth opens before his mind can catch up._

_“See you at the Games tomorrow.”  
  
There isn’t anything threatening or even teasing in the way he says it, and Kuroo himself is surprised by how solemn his voice sounds.  
  
Bokuto gives him a strained smile, Akaashi nodding.  
  
“Yeah, buddy.” Bokuto says this with marked melancholy in his voice, the word ‘buddy’ not tinged with the slightest bit of sarcasm at all. He lifts a hand and places it on Kuroo’s shoulder for no more than a second, hand cold from the thoughts likely rushing unrelentingly in his head. “…We’ll see you there.”  
  
And the elevator shuts closed.  
  
_

* * *

_  
Fukurodani, District of Power and never one to be underestimated, were just as terrified about tomorrow as the rest of them.  
  
_

* * *

 

_When the elevator begins to move again, he feels Kenma move from the corner of the elevator towards him.  
  
Kenma isn’t playing his games.  
  
Slowly, he leans into Kuroo’s side, moving his head up to rub his cheek against Kuroo’s arm. Kuroo grins lazily at him, leaning his head down into Kenma’s hair before ruffling that pudding-head of hair.  
  
He must be tired too._

_“We’re almost to our room, okay?”_

 

* * *

_  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…_

_“Welcome back,” Yaku greets them as they walk in. He is leaning back into a black leather chair, arms crossed. “I know we’ve gone over all of this time and time again, but you know it’s incredibly important.”_

_He called them in early to go over survival methods and tricks for the arena. Kuroo and Kenma both take a seat across from him on a black leather couch. A black marble table lined with gold is between them, Yaku’s cup of water sitting on top._

_Kuroo didn’t mind going over this. Honestly, it didn’t feel like they had went over it that much. He guesses that Yaku is just being overly cautious, maybe thinking Kuroo and Kenma don’t want to continuously discuss the Games, especially in the ‘safety’ of their living quarters._

_But being Yaku, he has decided to push them anyway. Kuroo and Kenma appreciated this, because it instilled a sense of confidence within them, knowing that their mentor, their friend, definitely saw a strength—a hope—inside them._

_They sit together until just before dinner time._

_Exhaling, Yaku looks up at them after having said his piece.  
  
“Dinner will be ready soon. Are you hungry?”_

_~~  
~~ _ _Both Kuroo and Kenma look up at this moment before exchanging glances.  
There are no words spoken, but Kuroo knows their answer.  
  
“No, we’re fine.”  
  
Yaku gives them another look—one that is both conceding and concerned. “Alright. I’ll be in the living room. Feel free to come out and talk if you want to.”  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
._

_.._

_…  
  
Kuroo and Kenma had the unfortunate (fortunate?) chance of actually knowing their mentor years before they were even reaped. Both can attest to the look on Yaku’s face when they were standing there, on that cursed stage where district inhabitants were forced to watch their loved ones get sent to die—that same cursed stage that Yaku himself had stood on several years prior.  
  
Yaku’s eyes were wide with shock, hands holding tight to the sides of his chair. His short bangs were trembling against his forehead, his lips curling and uncurling, forcing his emotions to stay down, down _ down _.  
  
But he failed—because he started to look angry, like he wanted to break and scream and cry out all at the same time.  
  
It was different—because usually when his tributes were chosen, his face would be stoic, save for the slight tremble on the edges of his lips; his eyes unfathomably sad, glazed with the knowledge that he’d likely have to say goodbye to more of his own.  
  
But _ this _year, when Kuroo and Kenma were reaped, people he knew personally, Yaku was clutching at his hair so tightly that Kuroo and Kenma were sure he would pull it all out at that moment.  
  
Yaku didn’t speak when he joined them in the train that lead them to the Capitol.  
He only hugged them.  
—Tightly, and didn’t let go for a long time.  
  
All he said was that he was sorry.  
That was all he really _ could _do.  
He was sorry that they would have to go through what he did._

 _Sorry that he couldn’t guarantee their survival.  
Sorry that if they _ did _survive they would still suffer the way he did every day.  
Sorry that in the end, there really _ were no winners.

_All of Yaku's friends know the effects that the Games have made on him, even if he now lives in a grand, polished house in the Victor's Square. Victors of the Games are given a new home and food every month for the rest of their life. Yaku no longer spends his time in the fields. But he doesn't hesitate to show others that the lavish lifestyle isn't worth it.  
  
 Any of it._

_He doesn't deny being unable to sleep.  
_ He doesn’t deny _that when he finally does sleep, he_ wakes up in a cold sweat, clutching onto his chest and fearing for his life.

 _He would rather live in his former, small, run down home with his mental stability.  
But he can’t take it back.  
He can’t change what happened.  
  
He is haunted.  
Haunted by the fact that he killed others _ just like him _to stay alive.  
  
_

* * *

_  
Kuroo feels Kenma’s fingers on his back, his small hands tugging lightly on its fabric. He nods at Yaku and quietly heads into the room, with Kenma trailing closely behind him, fingers continuing to ghost over Kuroo’s shirt._

* * *

_  
._

_.._

_…_

_It’s pitch black inside their room—so dark you couldn’t see your hand in front of your own face. Kuroo immediately reaches out a long arm to flip the switch on, eyes shifting about to survey their freshly cleaned room._

_The bed, their luxurious, overly blanketed and overly pillowed bed—was completely free of wrinkles—so stiff, lifeless – completely sterile in appearance. There wasn’t a speck of dust to be seen in the room, no signs that a person had been inside its premises. The opulence of the room only made it feel colder and emptier.  
  
Kuroo preferred home.  
  
Their bed might be older, sunken down in the middle, too soft to really offer support for their aching backs—but it was home. There was a sort of nostalgia he felt laying on his and Kenma’s bed, a feeling that no matter what they had gone through in the day—no matter how bad or how traumatizing—it was all going to be fine. They could forget all their worries once they lay quiet on their bed because they were _ in bed _, huddled up together, tangled up in each other’s limbs and safe._

 

* * *

_Safe._

* * *

_  
  
Immediately out of the corner of his eyes, Kuroo sees Kenma shuffle forward, kicking off the slippers they had been provided by the Capitol, making his way up to the bed. He climbs on top of it, settles into a loose crisscross sitting position with his feet pressed up against each other. His face immediately morphs into one of satisfaction and comfort, lips curling at their edges.  
  
He tilts his head, looking up at Kuroo curiously before reaching into his hoodie pocket to pull out his handheld. Kuroo chuckles at this, unbuttoning his shirt and unceremoniously throwing it aside onto an armchair. When he’s close enough, he plops his hand on top of Kenma’s head—and Kenma immediately looks up at him, again, with that curious expression on his face.  
  
Curious—and a little miffed, because he was in the middle of defeating a _ very _important level.  
  
“ I’m going to shower.” Kuroo announces with a grin on his face, even though he didn’t intend on it. Kenma nods, making Kuroo’s hand bob with his movements. _

_“…Later.” Kenma replies, as if Kuroo had outwardly asked if he wanted to join. That was the good thing about them; they didn’t have to say things to talk to each other. If they couldn’t say it out loud at that moment, they’d still know how to reply._

_Kuroo nods his head, pulling his hand away slowly. “You know where to find me.”_

_._

_.._

_…  
  
Their bathroom is huge—about three times the size of their bedroom at home. Its stark white, with a huge full body mirror plastered against the wall to his left. There are two sinks, sinks that looked like glass bowls suspended up into nothing—a large hot tub that must have been designed to fit at least four people inside of it and an enormous walk-in shower. Glass encloses the shower area, shiny glass that seemed to flicker and glitter wherever the lights hit it. There were even places to sit inside of it, a television suspended _ just in case _you wanted to see what the gossip of the day was.  
  
All of which, to Kuroo, were ridiculous—like everything else in the Capitol.  
  
He opts to use the hot tub instead of the shower, even though he told Kenma otherwise.  
He hated the shower. Jets would spray out from every direction—almost felt like he was being attacked. It was worse when the water was too hot or too cold too. The first time he and Kenma tried it, they both jolted out as quick as they could—bright red spots on their bodies from where they were hit.  
  
It isn’t long after that thought when Kuroo finally slips into the tub, eyes shut and resting comfortably. He has a million things rushing through his head, but everything seems to go blank when the warmth of the water hits his skin.  
  
Blank—like how his mind went blank every time he and Kenma curled up into their bed back at home.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
_

_“…I was wondering what was taking you so long.”  
  
Kuroo opens his eyes, lifting them up to his companion staring down at him. His voice was barely audible, more of a mumble and slightly above that of a whisper. _

_“How long have I been in here?”  
  
“…Over two hours.” Kenma’s eyes flit up to Kuroo’s face, lips pursing lightly. “…And you haven’t even washed your hair.”_

_Kuroo chuckles, sitting up slightly. The tub had the ability to keep the temperature you wanted set for hours. It never got too cold, never got too hot. Just like he—_ and Kenma _—would prefer it.  
  
“Maybe I was waiting for you?” He smirks up at Kenma, who in turn gives him a full-on pout. An embarrassed one, but he doesn’t say anything to disagree._

_“…Move over.”  
  
Kuroo’s smirk turns into a grin and immediately he sits up more fully. His eyes shut again and don’t open until he feels the water ripple lightly around him, Kenma’s bare back situated directly in front of him. He hears Kenma mumble something like, “I’m surprised you’re not a raisin.” _

_“It’s warm, huh?” There is a small amount of humor in Kuroo’s voice after Kenma’s statement. Around them, a foam of bubbles rests on top of the water and he could see the line of bubbles travel up Kenma’s back as he moved forward to turn the faucet on. He wanted just a little more water in the tub.  
  
“You took the time to add bubble bath but not wash your hair.” Kenma replies, quietly but reprimanding. He didn’t really care about what Kuroo did or didn’t do and that pout remained obvious in his voice. There wasn’t any bitterness or real reprimand in Kenma’s statements and Kuroo knew he was more skirting around the real issue—because he couldn’t say it upfront.  
  
He probably felt anxious sitting in that giant room alone in silence.  
In the silence, alone with his thoughts.  
  
_

_Kenma wasn’t a people person and he didn’t like being surrounded by people.  
  
  
But that didn’t mean he _ liked _to be alone—and Kuroo knew that from day one._

_Slowly, Kuroo reaches his hand over to a small bath pail. Kenma shuts his eyes instinctively, hunching over in the tub. Kuroo can see the blond in Kenma’s hair grow dark as the water hit it as he curls forward from the comfortable heat, eyes half-lidded as the warm water drenched his scalp._

_He shut his eyes when Kuroo put shampoo into his hair, massaging his fingers into Kenma’s scalp, his movements making soft “swish” movements. Though they were quiet, Kenma could hear the apology in Kuroo’s actions.  
  
_

* * *

_  
He’s sorry for leaving him in there alone.  
  
_

* * *

_  
  
When he and Kuroo head back into their bedroom, all changed into their pajamas and warm, they do what they always do when they’re back at home.  
  
Kenma shuffles over to the bed, crawling over the edge (it was ridiculously high compared to theirs at home and theirs at home was already taller than average), before settling himself on top. It takes him a few seconds to shimmy his feet and body under the heavy covers before finally pulling them over himself. _

_Kenma makes a soft sigh of contentment under the covers. Warm._

_They didn’t make use of the extra bedroom the Capitol gave them. They never set foot or even laid eyes on it.  
  
The first day they were brought here, their escort was showing them around their floor, the kitchen, the dining area, the living room—and when it had finally come to the bedrooms the escort, Kai, was surprised by Kenma’s actions.  
  
While Kai was saying, “And Kenma, your bedroom is over—“  
  
The escort had looked up, only to notice the small pudding headed tribute was shuffling after Kuroo into “Kuroo’s room” and Kuroo, without even looking back to see where Kenma even was, immediately wrapped his arm around Kenma’s shoulder, resting his chin atop the other’s head. _

_Kai  blinked, but said nothing. Instead he put on a bright smile and nodded, saying something about how dinner would be ready in a few hours._

_._

_.._

_…  
  
_

_When Kuroo joins Kenma under the sheets, he immediately stretches—his long limps grazing against Kenma’s, before pulling the covers back over them._

_._

_.._

_…_

_It takes a few minutes for Kenma to say or do anything. When he finally_ does _move, he turns over to the nightstand, grabbing his handheld before turning back to Kuroo, scooting closer and closer until he physically couldn’t anymore._

_Kenma doesn’t start playing until he curls up into Kuroo—head against Kuroo’s chest while his game makes soft “ping! ping!” noises._

_It was comforting to say the least, because those sounds were familiar. Things felt the same, as if they weren’t going to be thrusted into the arena the day after tomorrow._

_They’re engulfed in that quiet comfort, Kuroo’s fingers curling around the ends of Kenma’s hair when he finally speaks._  
  
_“These tributes…They’re just like us, aren’t they?”  
  
“…Shouyou is scared. Fukurodani is scared.”_

_“Are you saying we are?” Kuroo questions him. Kenma just lifts an eyebrow._

_“We’re human too, aren’t we?”_

Kuroo scoffs. Of course _they were scared. Terrified. What sane person wouldn’t be?_

_There are good people out there, who work hard every day just like them. It’s just unfortunate that they all had to meet each other in this kind of situation._

_Kenma looks up at him, feline-amber eyes both questioning and encouraging. Kuroo sighs, pulling him closer._

_“Tch, I didn’t think I could hate the Capitol any more than I already did, but I do.”  
  
Kenma leans up, uncharacteristically taking the initiative to leave a small kiss on the side of Kuroo’s lips—because he understood, and even though he could not form the right words to mirror what he was thinking—agreed wholeheartedly.  
  
_

* * *

_  
Kuroo sighs, leaning his head down to capture those soft lips again.  
_

* * *

_  
  
He could get lost like this.  
Lost in thoughts, in warm, affectionate actions.  
Lost—away from the Capitol.  
  
He feels Kenma adjust, his handheld sliding between them as he kisses Kuroo both softly and intensely— and suddenly it feels like just the two of them in this world— and he’s free.  
  
_ They’re _free._

_Free from the Capitol—for rest of that night.  
  
_

* * *

  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

**“3…”**

_The blinding light he is faced with upon entering the arena only distracts him for a moment._

Kuroo has trained himself _well_ —well enough throughout his life—hiding from the watchful eye of peacekeepers in his district— to take in only what is significant and to disregard (but somehow remain _somewhat_ aware) of the rest.

It’s the unfortunate reality of living in District Eleven. You had to sleep with one eye open—like cats often do in the streets.

* * *

  
And maybe that’s the reality of living in all of the districts, save for the Careers.

* * *

 

There is an immediate smell of vegetation that reaches his nose in tandem with the light. He knows even before his eyes are able to fully scan the arena that they are settled deep within a thick forest.

 _That_ meant ample hiding spots, ample ways to make traps.  
Ample ways to _survive_ —and ample ways _to win.  
_  
But that isn’t his concern right now.  
_That_ could wait.  
The focus now is different—more important, something much more _significant_.  
  
The focus is _Kenma_.  
  
Immediately, Kuroo turns his head rapidly throughout the arena, the sound of the voice counting down pushed aside to another part of his brain.

He needs to find Kenma.  
_That_ is the priority.  
  
And _that’s_ when his eyes hone in on a familiar gradient of black to yellow.  
  
In a split second, he knows what it means.  
There.

He makes eye contact with the other, subtly nodding his head.

**“2…”**

.

..

…

  
He tightens his fists and steadies his feet, body leaned forward as far as he can, with eyes never leaving Kenma.

…

  
..

  
.

They share an intense gaze—Kenma's eyes are just as _focused_ on him—outwardly appearing to be calm and unfazed by his surroundings.  
  


 _(As always, Kuroo knows better.)  
_  
  
 They give each other a light nod.

‘ _We’ll meet there?’  
  
_ They would both run to where the trees clustered together.  
  
…  
  
  
..

                              

.

 

 **“1!”**  
  
When the canon goes off, everything appears to be a blur—a total _distortion_ of reality. Tributes are already screaming, others manically laughing in delight, others slipping haplessly on the wet grass beneath them. Barely a minute in and already— _chaos_. People dropping left and right like flies, _worthless_ flies, blood splattering abundantly onto the grounds, staining and draining deep into the soil.

* * *

  
It’s almost identical to how Kuroo imagined it. 

He _almost_ smirks at the irony.

* * *

 

His eyes remain honed on that familiar pudding-head as his strides become longer, faster than he’s ever pushed himself in his life. His body is coiled up in an uneasy sensation of _go, go, go._

It feels like forever until he makes it.  
  
When he finally reaches Kenma, he clumsily grabs hold of his hand, his bigger palm wrapped around Kenma’s smaller one, clutching intensely as they run. Neither are particularly gifted in speed, especially not in the way Hinata from Karasuno is, but they’re _smart_. _Smarter_ , he ventures to think, than anyone else in this arena.  
  
They _know_ what they have to do and they know how to do it.  
 They _know_ how to follow-through with a plan.  
_They know not to hesitate.  
  
_ And what’s more, they know what is _necessary_ , what _has to happen._

 

* * *

 _  
_ Kenma’s hand is like ice.

* * *

 

It’s sweating, cold and clammy with agitation—with a strong aura of apprehension radiating off his smaller body. Without looking back, Kuroo knows that Kenma’s face still isn’t showing the brewing emotions within, isn’t mirroring the anxiety in his shaky palm. All he can do, all they _both_ can do—is to continue running. Just keep going, _going, going, until they are safely out of sight._  
  
Kenma trips slightly behind him as he runs, having a more difficult time keeping up with Kuroo’s longer, faster strides. Kenma’s breaths are getting louder, small and raspy with every step. His stamina wasn’t quite on par with everyone else’s, but for everything he _lacked_ in athleticism, he gained back _at least threefold_ in cleverness and ingenuity.

Kuroo attempts to keep his gaze forward as they flee, but in the periphery of his line of sight, he can see Kenma suddenly turn his head.

“Kenma—“

Kuroo grimaces when he feels his arm sling violently back—as if it is being pulled out of his socket from sheer _ferocity and strength_ —and immediately Kenma’s hand loosens and slips out of his.

Kuroo is left with nothing but a frozen sensation in the palm of his hand.  
It feels as if everything has stopped in that moment.

For an instant, Kuroo panics—because that pudding-head has unexpectedly blurred out of his vision.  
A tribute has gotten hold of Kenma.  
  
Kuroo clenches his fists, pushing his feet into the ground to steady himself— ready to retaliate with as much brute force as he needs—but Kenma knocks his head back, head-butting the tribute in the face with uncharacteristic strength and running as soon as the tribute, momentarily stunned by the action, releases him. In the time it takes for Kuroo to breathe a sigh of relief, Kenma catches up to Kuroo and they rush into the shaded shelter of the forest.

* * *

_  
They continue to hear both tortured and gleeful (Careers) cries from the Cornucopia as they flee.  
_

* * *

_  
  
_

“Are you alright??” Kuroo pants heavily as he bends down, lowering his face to regard and scrutinize the other. He rests his hand on the back of Kenma’s neck, waiting and watching for a pained response. Kenma has his head down, hair concealing the sides of his face. His lips are partially open, quiet, yet deep breaths escape as he nods lightly, hair swaying in response. His fists are clenched against his sides.  
  
“…Mm.”

Regardless of his response, Kuroo moves his hands up towards Kenma’s face, palm open to inspect for further injuries. From the way Kuroo’s arm felt from the sudden pull earlier, he was sure Kenma would no doubt be feeling pain in his neck. If not now, then certainly later on, when the adrenaline drops just enough to let Kenma feel a sense of heavy discomfort.  
  
He narrows his eyes, gently moving Kenma’s face from side to side in his hands, assessing thoroughly. “Kenma, where did you—“  
  
“—It just surprised me.” The smaller one interrupts, shaking his head at the tone of concern in Kuroo’s voice. He swallows, catching his own breath, hands now resting on his knees.  
  
Kuroo nods, retracting.  
Kenma didn’t need to be doted on. Kenma was strong—strong on his _own_.  
Always _has_ been.  
  
…Still, that didn’t mean Kenma’s potential injury had to go unnoticed.

* * *

  
Kuroo has to physically _force_ himself to quell the crafty grin that was threatening to form on his face.

* * *

  
  
They could easily use this incident against the Capitol.  
They could wield it to their own advantage and manipulate the sponsors.

A glint in Kenma’s eyes tell Kuroo he is thinking the same.

Kuroo pulls away, but not before leaning his forehead against the other’s, softly and slowly kissing him lightly on the lips.  
  
If anything would guarantee a win with those Capitol idiots, it would be their “love story”.

And Kuroo would use it to do just that.  
To survive this with Kenma.

Kenma flushes, lips pursing at the sudden act of affection. He probably disliked public gestures of romance even more so now, with the knowledge that they were being watched by their entire world, but this was for survival.  
  
They _need_ to survive.  
  
Kenma’s fists curl into a tighter ball, holding onto Kuroo’s chest before gradually letting go.  
  
Kuroo straightens, lingers closely to Kenma but stands tall—surveying the area in order to relax both his body and his mind.  
  
“…We’ll work from here.” He lowers his gaze to the other, voice quiet. “Alright?”  
  
When he receives a nod, the two stand like statues, listening intently. There is nothing but the birds and the breeze now, a complete contrast from their experiences only moments before. It feels as if they aren’t in a killing arena, as if they somehow made it out of their district—fending for themselves— _free_.  
  
_Free._

 _  
_ The exact _opposite_ of what they were now.  
_Caged._

 _  
_ Lesser than animals.

* * *

  
They should have attempted to escape while they still had the chance.

* * *

  
  
_Kuroo stares at Kenma, arms deep in his pockets.  
  
“Where is Fukunaga…?” Kenma’s voice takes on its characteristic tone, quiet and reserved. He’s curious, wondering where their acquaintance had gone. They didn’t know him well, but he was one of the scarce few they could rely on to share supplies.  
  
“He’s gone.” Kuroo replies, licking his bottom lip. He shifts his weight onto his other leg, eyeing Kenma carefuly. “He ran.”  
  
Kenma looks up, momentarily from his handheld.  
His voice is questioning but his eyes already know.  
  
“…He ran? From getting beaten?”  
  
“No, he was trying to escape this place.” Kuroo walks forward, taking a seat in front of Kenma on the floor, crossing his legs.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Kenma shuts his eyes. He knows the answer. “…They caught him.”  
  
“Avoid the main square.” Kuroo replies. “…They have his body hanging from the wall. They didn’t even bother taking the spears and arrows out.”  
_

* * *

  
Running, was, and never has been a good option.

* * *

  
  
He rakes a hand through his bedhead as he looks up towards the trees, as if watching and waiting for something invisible to point him towards the best plan and direction. Kuroo nods inwardly, then takes a step forward.

 "…Let's head in a little deeper." Kuroo states, turning his head again to face the other. “We’re too out in the open here.”

.

..                                                                                                                                                      

…

Staying alert and keeping incredibly close, the pair from Nekoma head forward.  
  
They decide not to wander too far from the clearing— but instead opt to find a more dense section of the forest, where even the wind found it difficult to maneuver through the trees. Because of the heavy foliage in the area, it is fairly dark despite the time being midday. Bits of the sun inch their way onto the ground, sneaking their way between open sections of the trees where branches have yet to spread.

They take cautious steps forward, leaves crunching under their feet, soft soil pushed downwards from their weight.

 

.

 

..

 

…

 

Then their ears are assaulted by something _other_ than silence.

 

 

 “ _AKAASHI!!!!!_ ”  
  
  
  
  


Both Kuroo and Kenma flinch, turning to each other in alarm, then back to the Cornucopia.

Fukurodani.

Were they _already_ —?

Kuroo can feel his eyes widen in response—his body straightening—shoulders pulled back in dread.

That scream reverberated as if they were only a few feet away from the Cornucopia.  
A scream like that— _that pained_ — and from _Bokuto_ —

Kuroo clenches down on his jaw, taking a step towards the direction they came from, as if doing so would silence those wails.  
   
_Bokuto—_  
Akaashi—  
_Did they—?  
_  
“…Kuroo.”

He stops in his tracks.  
  
He feels a small touch on his arm, then looks at Kenma.

Bokuto and Akaashi couldn’t have just died right there.

And if they did…  
They would have to move on.  
  
He lets out a strained breath when he meets the other’s amber feline eyes.  
  
Sensing Kuroo’s concern for the other tributes, Kenma purses his lips, approaching a nearby tree.

 “—We can see from the trees.”  
  
Kenma places his palm on the trunk, eyes narrowed and lips turning downward into a smaller, more serious frown. Kuroo watches him examine it, and before he can say anything, Kenma already has his body around it, climbing deftly step by step. Kuroo waits at the bottom, looking straight up as Kenma disappears into branches.

A couple of minutes pass until he hears Kenma.  
He can feel his body sway in wait.

His fingers tense aside him, tips coiling towards his pants.  
  
Even if it was only a few minutes, anything could happen.  
He is hyper alert. _Especially_ after that scream from—  
  
"It's safe, come up."

With the positive confirmation, Kuroo reaches around the trunk, grabbing onto the same bits and ends that Kenma did, gradually hoisting himself up. Once at the level Kenma is at, he is surprised to find themselves much higher than he previously anticipated. The tree they were situated in did not have the thickest trunk, but it was tall and they could see almost everything. It had enough weight to support them both.

* * *

  
Kenma wouldn’t say it was safe unless it was.

* * *

 

Not far off from the clearing was the Cornucopia, situated in the center.

He and Kenma eye the Cornucopia immediately, surveying the tributes still in that area. It has a small handful of tributes standing at its mouth, kicking through objects and searching through the area. 

 _Probably the Careers.  
_ No sign _of Fukurodani._

They are close enough to see the sprinkle of bodies on the ground, but not close enough to identify their faces (even though their team colors gave each district away). Kuroo is thankful for that—for the inability to distinguish explicit _detail_ —because he didn’t want or _need_ to see the bloodied faces of people he spent time with prior to the start of these Games).  
  
  
Because just an hour ago, those people were alive and well.

Almost without him noticing it, he finds himself searching for black and gold—or even a spot of bright silver hair across the field. From where they are looking, they can see stains of red across the arena—and he wonders if maybe one of those discolored patches of grass belong to Akaashi or Bokuto. _  
  
_ A few moments pass and he doesn’t see either—so begrudgingly; Kuroo puts it to the back of his mind.  
He has to.

  
His eyes finally lift from the arena, moving more expansively throughout. Across the clearing is more forest, and on the outer parts, there is a huge body of water. It probably wasn’t the _only_ body of water in this area, but it was a good point of reference. The far distance is only filled with mountains.  
  
Kuroo didn't know if they were real or not.

 

* * *

 

A few silent moments pass when suddenly the sound of the cannon goes off continuously. They both flinch in surprise at first, but soon figure out it’s the cannon that counts the dead.

 “Eight shots.” Kenma says.

With any luck, two of those eight weren’t Fukurodani, or maybe even _Karasuno_.

“That means sixteen left.”

Kuroo and Kenma look at each other intensely, a look that signified both fear but also triumph.

They were able to survive that blood bath.

And hopefully their friends did as well.

* * *

  
From the corner of his eye, Kuroo sees Kenma do one more swoop of their surroundings, moving from tree to tree with unbelievable great finesse and skill. He makes it look easy—even for someone from their district, someone used to climbing several times a day. He remains focused on Kenma, focuses on his back as he deftly makes his way to assess the surroundings—when his eyes abruptly catch onto something small floating their way.

It swayed just above the trees, and as it got closer, he realized it wasn't that small at all.

“Kenma.” His voice carries fairly well throughout the brushes of the trees, loud enough for the other to hear and yet quiet enough to not attract attention from any unwanted guests. He lifts his head up to nod at the direction of the object and Kenma’s eyes hone in on it, pupils immediately focused on the object.

He can move faster through the trees due to his smaller stature, so fast that the branches and leaves can barely be heard as they shift beneath him.

Swiftly, Kenma climbs up further, jumping into a nearby tree and tilting his head curiously at the object.

“ _Kenma_ —don’t wander off too far.”

Kuroo still can’t help that feeling he gets when Kenma isn’t within his sight. It has nothing to do with thinking Kenma isn’t capable—he just can’t shake the feeling he gets when it happens.  
  
It must be from living in the harsh environment of District 11.

Kenma purses his lips, taking in a moment to assess the object before looking down at Kuroo, situated in the same tree he was in previously. “…I think it’s a gift from a sponsor.”

A sponsor?  
Already?  
  
“I’ll be right there.”  
  
In a few moments, Kuroo makes it by Kenma’s side, legs resting on a thicker, denser branch to hold up his weight. Kenma is squatting on the branch, balance perfect— head angled lightly in curiosity at the package.  
  
“…Should we open it here?”  
  
In hindsight, they were probably being a little _too_ cautious.  
A sponsor wouldn’t send anything detrimental to a tribute. It was always something that could help save those tributes.

Sponsors choose to _save_ their favorites.  
Not kill them.  
  
Still, it is their first time seeing one and they want to be sure it is a gift from a sponsor and not a ‘gift’ from a fellow tribute. Better to be safe—than sorry.  
  
_Especially_ when making a mistake inevitably warranted death.

“...Yeah, let’s open it here.” Kuroo says carefully, reaching up to it. “Keep back.”

If it _is_ a trick from another tribute, then Kuroo is both stronger and in a better position to throw it as far away as possible. Kenma leans away, hands twisting around a branch above him for support.

Kuroo opens the box, reaching his hand in. He feels some kind of luxurious plushness. Exotic fur lines the inside. It’s warm. Puzzled, he tilts his head to view the insides as much as he can. Is this— _A sleeping bag_?

Their act really _is_ paying off. Just a few caresses to Kenma’s face and a small kiss on the lips apparently garnered a huge reward.

He looks up, eyes meeting Kenma’s amber ones. “I think it’s a sleeping bag.”

Kenma purses his lips as Kuroo pulls it over his back, careful to make sure it is secure. When rolled up, it looks like a regular bag.

Kenma stares at it, face appearing blank but excited at the same time.

“…I hope it’s warm.”  
  
Kuroo looks up at him and has to stifle the urge to chuckle at the latter’s excitement.  
His smile shows through nonetheless.

* * *

  
Kenma hated the cold.  
 

* * *

  
  
“We’ll see tonight, alright?” His voice naturally softens when he eyes the other, gently reaching out and tugging on the end of Kenma’s sleeve—the only thing he could reach in this proximity.

It wasn’t acting for the audience.  
Absently, they were sure it would cause reaction in their supporters nonetheless.

“… For now, let’s keep surveying the area.”

“Mm.” Kenma hops onto the tree Kuroo is in, leaning his head against the trunk, shutting his eyes. “It looked like the Careers were gathering all the materials back into the Cornucopia. They’ll probably set off in a few hours. Most likely in that direction.” He nods his head towards a direction past Kuroo. Kenma glances up at the sun briefly, taking an educated guess. It was probably “north” of where they were.  
  
“That direction?” Automatically, Kuroo redirects his gaze towards the area, noticing a very small—barely noticeable shift in the bushes leading towards the forest.

Kenma’s ability to notice such tiny _innocuous_ things—especially in such an expansive area—has never ceased to amaze him.  
  
“…Whoever went that way must have decided that cutting all through the tree branches and bushes in their way would be a good idea.”

It didn’t take a genius to read between the lines.  
Kenma’s body language and unimpressed expression spells out exactly what he’s thinking of them: ‘ _Idiots.’_

It isn’t _nearly_ as obvious as Kenma makes it _sound_ , but it is definitely something the Careers will notice. They were trained to win after all, so they more than likely must have had training in tracking tributes down.  
  
“Pretty much left a trail for the Careers to follow, mm?”

Kenma nods lightly. “They’ll probably kill the easiest first, then band together to finish off the rest.”

“You don’t think they’ll kill the strongest first? Save the easiest for last?”  
  
Kuroo had heard plenty of stories similar to that.

* * *

There was one year a tribute pretended to be weak and unassuming, so much so that none of the other tributes (Careers included) took notice of him.  
  
At the end, he revealed his own type of ferocity.  
He was strong, _lethal_ and finished them all off one by one.  
Despite that display of ferocity, though, the ‘human’ never left his eyes.  He never turned into a monster.

* * *

 

“No. That tribute was different.” Kenma states, knowing what Kuroo is alluding to. “When you show how incompetent and careless you are, you’re practically gift-wrapping yourself to the Careers. They wouldn’t pass up the chance.”

“Besides,” Kenma adds, “I’m sure they won’t fall for something like that again. They probably have someone waiting at the Cornucopia so they won’t be tricked.” He pauses, licking his lips. “…Careers like ambushes, so…”

Their voices are matter of fact, separated, dissociated, from the idea. They choose not to settle in the ‘what ifs’ so their minds aren’t clouded. They need to have clear thoughts.

Kenma’s eyes continue to scan the area. His eyes stop, focusing in a specific direction. “…And based on the terrain, the Careers’ll probably go that way.”

“You don’t think they’ll split up?”  
  
Kenma shakes his head again. “They’re stronger in numbers. It doesn’t matter if they’re already strong individually. If they’re outnumbered, they’ll shatter.” Leaning back against the tree, he sways his feet, bending them inward and outward. “… And even if it takes a while for us to understand their patterns completely…”  
  
Kuroo looks over at him.

“…We’ll get used to it.”

The words go unsaid, but are loud enough for Kuroo.

* * *

  
_They aren’t as smart as they think they are._

_Everything is handed to a Career on a silver platter. So why put in the mental effort if they can just bludgeon someone to death?  
  
_

* * *

_  
_ “…Six average people who have the determination to live can take down one or two strong individuals.”

* * *

 _  
_  
Kenma sighs a bit, stretching his legs out beneath him to sprawl out onto the branch more comfortably.  
  
“If we’re lucky, they’ll rush in without finding out if any of the other districts teamed up.” Kuroo replies. He can’t stretch his legs out too far because the width of his thighs are too large for the branch they are currently on. He settles for resting one and leaving his other leg to dangle.  
  
Kenma makes a small ‘hm’ sound, taking a moment to pull his legs up against his chest, resting his head on Kuroo’s shoulder. Kuroo shifts, attempting to make the position more comfortable for him.

He knows it must have taken everything in Kenma to initiate that and it makes him feel warm, warmer than he thought he could ever feel in this harsh environment. Kenma makes a small sound of appreciation, curling his fingers around the edge of Kuroo’s shirt.

Kuroo’s eyes narrow in thought, chuckling lightly. He reaches his hand up, running it through the strands of Kenma’s hair, massaging his scalp gently.  
  
If they got such an extravagant sleeping bag for just one small _kiss…_

“They’ll probably underestimate just how strong desperation is, considering how confident they act.”

Kenma nods. “…I’m sure they also figure that the weaker tributes will die of something else, infection—starvation—dehydration—in the more difficult areas. It’s easy to get injured or stuck here. And…”

“And?”  
  
“Most tributes were too focused on the combat side of the Games to even consider studying medicine and treatment. So if they’re injured or weakened at all… they’ve already lost.”

Kuroo scoffs. That’s true. Even though they had been told every day that most _wouldn’t_ die in combat, but from other unfortunate circumstances— people naturally opted to focus on training.

Maybe they thought they wouldn’t be injured.  
Maybe they thought they wouldn’t be exposed to the elements.  
Maybe it was denial.

“You’re probably giving them more credit than they deserve.” Kuroo says airily. Honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if they just charged in blindly following whatever paths they were on. But then, he might be biased, because he doesn’t hold any particular love for the Careers (not that Kenma does either), and sometimes he shows that dislike a little _too_ much. ( _Especially_ in light of the nervous, busy feeling in his chest that hasn’t gone away since he heard his fellow tribute from Fukurodani cry out.)

Kenma nods, understanding. He obviously already took the tributes (most likely both the Careers _and_ everyone else’s) personalities into consideration. Kuroo smirks.

* * *

  
Kenma was always good at reading people.

* * *

  
The smaller tribute turns his head, noticing Kuroo’s smirk at him. His face turns into faded red and he averts his eyes, looking down from the trees they were suspended in.

“…Better to be safe.”

* * *

  
Looks like Kenma was thinking the same thing.

 

* * *

_  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
 “You’re strong—and smart.” Yaku was looking up at them, standing as tall as he possibly could, even with his small stature. He opens his mouth slightly to speak but hesitates. _

_He wants to believe Kuroo and Kenma can make it.  
He _ knows _that over any other tributes he has ever mentored, no two tributes exhibited the proper amount of skill to survive any more than these two._

_If anyone could survive the Games as a pair, it would be Kuroo and Kenma.  
Even against other districts, they were daunting when together.  
They may not stand out, may not excel in any specific skill, but they had their ways. _

_Ways that shouldn’t be discounted, that shouldn’t be disregarded.  
  
Even before the Games, the two were extremely clever. They had come up with the lovers act to ensnare the Capitol’s gullible hearts on their own. They knew instinctively not to rely purely on their fighting skills. They had survival skills—stronger skills than anyone else Yaku had known. For these past few weeks, he has given his all into making sure Kuroo and Kenma are prepared for the arena—despite how hard he tried to distance himself emotionally from his tributes due to their countless, senseless deaths.  
  
Yaku wants to make sure—over and over—that both Kuroo and Kenma know when to avoid trouble—how to fight if—when encountered. _

_“Thank you,” Kenma says, eyes staring straight at him._

_Kuroo steps forward, resting a hand on his shoulder. “Yes, thank you.”  
  
“…For everything.”  
  
There is a pause as Yaku looks up at them, mouth hanging open slightly, unable to form a proper response. _

_He finds himself clenching his body, holding back tears. Before he knows it, both Kuroo and Kenma are hugging him—tightly.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
It takes a few moments before Yaku finds the ability to speak again._

_“Find water first.” Yaku rasps, reminding them and stubbornly attempting not to cry, even though tears are already welling up in the corners of his eyes. “Survive.”  
  
Yaku clenches his fights, holding the fabric of his pants as he bites his lip.  
  
“Come home. Please.” His lip is turning white from how hard he is biting. “We’re waiting for you.”  
  
_

* * *

 

“….Water.” Kenma says, seemingly out of the blue. Kuroo knows what he is alluding to and when he stares up at the sky to estimate how much time has elapsed, he nods, running a hand through his hair.

“Let’s try heading towards that direction then.” Their surveying from the high tops of the trees made it much easier to navigate. Despite the forest seeming to be the same from every angle, they were used to surveying land this way, thanks their experiences back at home.  
  
They would not be daunted by how far the water seemed.  
They would _not_ lose their way.

“You want to stay in the trees?”

Kenma nods, tilting his head in the direction of the water. “We’ll have a better idea of our surroundings from here.”  
  
They  both know that no other tribute could climb trees as deftly and as quietly as they do.  
They would have the upper hand, should they need to attack (or if anyone attempted to attack).

* * *

  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
Moving throughout the trees proved to be much easier than they thought. Kuroo anticipated that their stamina would wane, but they both seem to be holding up well. Yaku had taught them several ways to conserve their energy and it seems to be working.

Just from looking at the sun, Kuroo knows it will be dark in a few hours. He is about to turn to Kenma to arrange a place for them to rest when he hears a light rustling from a distance.

Kuroo turns his head, gently resting a hand on Kenma’s shoulder. Kenma pauses at the motion, looking at him in question. Kuroo raises a languid finger up to his mouth and nods his head slightly to the left. He gives Kenma a look and Kenma immediately knows what he is trying to say—without actual verbalization of the words.

_‘I hear something.’_

Kenma leans forward, taking hold of a sturdy branch in front of him. He and Kuroo are situated so high up in the trees that there are leaves encompassing them, enough for them to use as makeshift camouflage. They’re so skilled at climbing that being inconspicuous and hiding comes nearly too easy to them. They could probably jump and kill the next tribute they saw—if they wanted to.

 

“We need to take a _rest_ —“

  
  
Kuroo tilts his ear, recognizing the voice. He lifts his eyes to Kenma, who is already staring back at him.

 

“…This isn’t a good place to take a rest.” The next voice is breathy, obviously exhausted and winded.

* * *

  
The owners of the voices still aren’t in view.

* * *

 

The voices are quiet, most tributes wouldn’t hear them.  
But inhabitants of Nekoma are more gifted in hearing than other districts.

There’s some rustling and movement before they finally see the two tributes.  
Kuroo doesn’t realize he’s making a strange face until Kenma gently reaches out and takes hold of his arm, small fingers wrapping around the cloth of his coat. Kenma’s eyes are focused, determined. He looks at Kuroo and makes a slight nod.  
  
That’s when they decide to gracefully climb down the tree towards the seemingly unsuspecting tributes. Once down, they make a few steps towards the tributes, their feet light on the ground.

They make no discernable sound—  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
But when they come within a foot’s distance to the tributes, the taller of the two whirls around—showing just how heightened his senses are—hands strong and tight with a sizeable knife wedged in his palm. Despite this attempt to show some tiny bit of ferocity, his face falters, covered in a light layer of sweat (because he never had the skill to hide his emotion), eyeing Kuroo with as much tenacity and bravery he could.

He was hesitant, fist shaking.  
  
  
_Pupils dilated. Eyes red—exhausted._           

Kuroo puts a hand out in front of Kenma, gently pushing him back.  
He didn’t think Bokuto would hurt him, but Bokuto is impulsive— _emotional_ —especially when Akaashi came into the picture.

“…Relax, Bokuto.”  
  
“…” Bokuto’s hand continues to grip his weapon and he mirrors Kuroo’s actions, strong arm stretched out in a protective manner—except with Akaashi and not with Kenma.  
  
Kuroo glances at Akaashi, then at Bokuto. “…We’re here to help.” He nods over at Akaashi, whose face is pale, holding onto his arm, bloodied from an injury. His face is void of emotion, though his mouth is open slightly, showing his exhaustion. His shoulders rise and fall with every labored breath.

  
  
They are vulnerable.

 

Akaashi pushes Bokuto’s hand away.  
  
“Bokuto.”  
“ _Akaash_ —“  
  
“We’re here to help.” Kuroo repeats, looking down at Bokuto before giving him a small grin. He lifts his hands, motioning towards Kenma. “We’re both really good with wounds. We know what kind of herbs he needs to heal. You don’t want him to get an _infection_ , do you?”

In truth, it _did_ somewhat make Kuroo’s stomach flop when Bokuto regarded him with such uncertainty. It may have been the way he and Kenma approached, but to him, it was just proof of what the Capitol did to its district citizens.

Friendships could be severed just like that.  
Just from fear.  
And really, he couldn’t blame Bokuto or anyone else for reacting the way they did.

Bokuto’s arm begins to slacken, weapon dropping lightly, though still situated right in front of him.

Kuroo smirks at this, attempting to lighten the atmosphere, lips moving nearly without his consent, just barely audible. “…Don’t forget who the enemy is.”

If this was being aired on Capitol TV, (because only parts deemed proper were shown on television), it could be understood that Kuroo was talking about the Careers.  
  
_Bokuto_ knows better.

He shifts his footing, arm brushing against Akaashi’s. His eyes raise up to meet Kuroo’s and he lowers his weapon immediately.  
  
He frowns, lower lip jutted out in a pout—eerily similar to the little orange boy from Karasuno.

“Sorry,” Bokuto’s hair seemed to droop with his expression, “You know I’d never forget that.”

Kuroo smirks, straightening up.  
  
“Good.”

Kuroo raises his hand up to run through the ends of his own hair. He chuckles, running his hands through his hair purposely—intentionally allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of the armed tribute. He’s intentionally exposing his chest to prove himself. Much like a cat exposing it’s belly. 

He’s mostly teasing, but part of him can’t help what he says next.

“Thought it would take more for you to seriously point a weapon at me, Bokuto.”  
  
Bokuto continues to pout, dejected (but allowing himself to let down his guard (if only slightly). “You did just sneak up on us.”  
  
“Didn’t _sneak._ How else are we supposed to approach you?”  
  
“We’ve been through a lot.”

Kuroo looks at him, then Akaashi, both significantly worse  off than Kenma and him. “….Yeah, I can see that.”  
  
Kenma interrupts.

“…Let’s take a look at that wound.” By this time, Kenma is already stepping forward towards Akaashi. He was never one to start a conversation (or in this case, interrupt one), but he must feel too vulnerable in this area.

Kenma wants to keep moving.

“…Has the bleeding stopped..?”

It only takes a few seconds for Kenma to shuffle closer and reach out towards Akaashi’s hand. He’s completely ignoring the banter between Kuroo and Bokuto, gently tugging Akaashi towards an area to sit.  
  
“Leave it to you to forget.”  
“I didn’t forget!”  
  
Kuroo smirks when he sees a bit of life come back into Bokuto’s eyes.  
  
“Shhhh.” Kuroo replies, putting his finger up to his lips. The silver-haired tribute pouts at this, narrowing his eyes.

Bokuto whispers, albeit still somewhat loudly. “I said I didn’t forget!”

Kenma kneels down, carefully assessing Akaashi’s arm. His hand reaches out to the wound, ghosting over its edges when Akaashi lets out a loud hiss, wincing and pulling back instinctively. Bokuto immediately turns his head, cutting off his prior conversation with Kuroo.

“ _Akaash_ —“

“…Sorry.” Kenma apologizes, but continues to look anyway. He then stands, looks around, and begins shuffling from place to place, bending down to look at different herbs.

Bokuto veers his head back immediately, looking at Kuroo for answers.  His head continues to go back and forth, comically mirroring those of an owl high up in the trees.

Kuroo raises his hands, a small grin escaping from his formerly serious face. “Just relax. He knows what he’s doing.”

“…We got some medicine in our sponsor bag, but I’m going to save it for an emergency.” Kenma explains, as if Kuroo asked. Kuroo nods, stretching his shoulders lightly. There isn’t anything he doesn’t trust Kenma with, so he doesn’t give Kenma’s actions a second thought.

* * *

  
_Upon more thorough inspection of their sleeping bag a few hours later, Kuroo and Kenma both felt some more materials inside it.  
  
It seems the kiss warranted even more than they thought.  
_

* * *

 

Something in Akaashi’s face changes when Kenma says that.  
No tribute in their right mind would disclose that type of information unless they trusted who they were with. _Especially_ tributes as clever and cunning as Kuroo and Kenma.  
  
Kuroo interjects, breaking the silence once again. “Just let me know if—“  
  
“Sponsors? You already got gifts from sponsors?” Bokuto interrupts Kuroo, appearing to just now notice the bag over his shoulder. He misses the point the two were trying to make—instead focusing on gift from the Capitol. He looks surprised, but his eyes fall immediately, saddened. He looks over at Akaashi, as if to quietly (uncharacteristically, because in any other situation he would be more vocal about Kuroo and Kenma receiving a gift _first_ ) apologize for it (like it was his fault they _didn’t_ already receive a gift), but Akaashi shakes his head.

“It’s early in the game, Bokuto. Maybe they’re just lucky.”

Kuroo can tell the attempt to raise Bokuto’s mood is half-hearted. Akaashi usually has better ways of pulling Bokuto out of his moods, but this time, he must be too exhausted and feeling too much pain to think of anything else.

Kenma nods, agreeing. But then, again, Kenma quickly changes the subject.  
  
“Kuroo.”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“We need to stop the bleeding.”

This is his way of reminding the two of them to focus.  
  
Bokuto steps forward, but Kuroo thrusts his arm out, shaking his head. Bokuto would be too emotional to handle this right now.

Akaashi winces and nearly, but doesn’t, yell out. He takes the herbs in his hands—seems to have prepared something already—and without notice—pushes it firmly against Akaashi’s wound, _hard_.

“Nn—“ Akaashi bites his lip to stifle his pained gasp, beads of sweat slowly dripping down the edges of his face at the exertion.

“ _AKA_ —“  
  
“Shh!” Kuroo scolds again, turning to Bokuto, gently grabbing his shoulders. “I know you’re worried, but if you react like that, we’ll be found. There’s no way Akaashi can continue _or_ survive unless we treat this.”  
  
Bokuto seems like he’s about say something, but his eyes suddenly meet Akaashi’s. He swallows, stepping back and clenching his fists so tightly his palms are turning white. Kuroo loosens his hold on him and nods.

“Just trust us.”  
  
It’s a funny thing to say in an area where you’re pitted to kill each other, but Bokuto _believes_ him.  
_Wholeheartedly_ and without question.

Kenma stands on the other side, holding Akaashi still.

This goes on for what feels like forever, until Kenma’s hand loosens and he nods. He takes a small piece of cloth and wraps it tight around the opening, then forms a makeshift shoulder wrap.  
  
Kuroo notices just how fast Kenma put the wrap together.  
  
They decide to sit still for a few moments to let Akaashi adjust to having a wrapped shoulder. Akaashi continues to bite his lip, but makes no sound. Beads of sweat continue to roll down his forehead from the pain.  
  
“…I’ll make you something for that pain, okay? I’ve been collecting some plants throughout the day.”

* * *

  
.  
  
..  
  
…

Once up again and walking, Kenma keeps a concealed eye on Akaashi as they move. Bokuto is next to him, doting on the injury. Despite just having his wound patched up, Akaashi’s pained expression doesn’t disappear right away. He insists he’s fine, but knows otherwise. The medicine Kenma prepared from the plants he collected would still take a while longer to take effect.

 

Akaashi just needs time to heal.  
Time to rest.

 

Kuroo glances over at his partner. He notices Kenma stretching his arms into the air, only to wince and bring his hand down, to the back of his own neck.

Grimacing, Kenma pauses, rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, fingers nestled through the blonde ends of his hair. Kuroo stops in his tracks, looking over at him.  
  
Did that tribute earlier pull Kenma harder than they initially thought?  
  
Kenma is tilting his head, rubbing his lips together when their eyes meet.  
Kuroo sees the slight movement towards the corners of Kenma’s lips.  
  
_He’s acting.  
_ And really, he’s acting for the sakes of Bokuto and Akaashi—as well as their own.  
He probably wants more medicine—to help treat Akaashi’s wound faster.

Kuroo turns fully so he is facing the other, leaning down and pulling a languid arm up to his neck, his own larger hand resting on Kenma’s smaller one. “Does it hurt…? Was it from earlier—?”  
  
Bokuto looks on, watching the scene unfold. He crosses his arms, tilting his head. He looks concerned, brows furrowed in what could be depicted as somewhere in between confusion and concern. His lips have morphed themselves into a downward frown. Even this close up, he is easily deceived into believing the scene, unaware of Kenma’s motives. He doesn’t realize it’s all to keep the citizens interested, to keep sending supplies, to keep their (including _his and Akaashi’s_ ) chances of survival as high as possible.

Akaashi, on the other hand, is completely opposite to Bokuto in emotion and appears unmoved. His mouth is open slightly, allowing only shallow breaths of air to escape.  
  
Kenma looks up at Kuroo, when their hands touch at the back of his neck.  
  
 “…It’s fine.” He frowns, making a face where it would be apparent to anyone ( _even Capitol idiots_ ) that it is sore.

It more than likely _is_ actually sore, with the force that tribute used against Kenma, but Kenma is never one to complain. Another indicator that this is all a fake.

Kuroo knows and he’s sure as Yaku looks on, Yaku knows as well.  
  
Yaku.

* * *

  
_He’s probably incredibly proud that they made it this far.  
And he’s probably working as hard as he can to encourage sponsors to send things to them.  
  
_

* * *

 

Kuroo leans down, tilting his head so he can look Kenma in the face—coming in much closer than Kenma (most likely) intended.

“Hey.”

Kenma flinches—and this time it’s not pretend.

He pushes his forehead into the top of Kenma’s head, shutting his eyes. Kenma does the same, but ends up hiding his face in Kuroo’s chest, a small hand reaching to the edge of Kuroo’s pants and gripping lightly.

Bokuto looks away, then at Akaashi, before clearing his throat. The two of them walk a few steps ahead.

Kuroo pulls away, one hand lingering on Kenma’s hair before ruffling that pudding head and looking over at their comrades. His other hand loosely holds onto the tips of Kenma’s fingertips.

“Is he okay?” Bokuto asks, tilting his head. “Did… “ He hesitates, “Something happen back at the Cornucopia?”  
  
Kuroo nods, but doesn’t elaborate. He doesn’t want to picture it in his mind. He doesn’t want to picture _anything_ involving Kenma getting injured. “We can’t do anything to help it for now.”  
  
Slowly, he pulls his hand away from Kenma’s.  
  
Another strong hint to the sponsors.  
  
Kuroo shifts his attention, turning to eye their surroundings.

“We’ll eventually need to decide on a plan.” Kuroo studies their group, from one person to another, noting how drained they already are. He and Kenma hadn’t anticipated on teaming up with Fukurodani and it seems exhaustion has finally caught them. He eyes Bokuto and Akaashi more thoroughly, gaze falling down to the knife in Bokuto’s hand. He purses his lips before rolling his neck, eyes half lidded in thought. He would make sure take into account their physical state when deciding what to do next.  
  
 “But first… let’s get the hell out of here.”

* * *

  
  
The unexpected alliance find it easier to trek through the forest as a group, having more eyes and ears on alert, but with inevitable concern looming above from one injured team member. No one could relax just yet. They safely make it to a river and decide to take refuge there. Akaashi sits on the surface of a boulder as Kenma gently checks on his wound, painstakingly assessing to make sure no infection was present.  During this point, Bokuto and Kuroo roll up their sleeves as best as they can to go and catch fish in the river.

.

.

..

…

Akaashi doesn’t take to being wounded well. He’s irritated, from being physically and emotionally exhausted and he doesn’t enjoy feeling like he’s slowing others down. Sweating slightly more than the others, he lets his shoulders slouch just a little as Kenma takes a closer look at him. He lets out a small sigh as he watches the smaller tribute cautiously fiddle with the wrap. Before he can say anything, Kenma speaks out, staring down at his own fingers tangled within the bandages, eyes narrowing and lips forming a slight pout at the dressing.

“…It’s not your fault.”

The fact that Kenma is extremely observant isn’t new to Akaashi, but the comment took him off guard. They were kind words in a hostile environment. His gestures—his tending to his wounds—were kind actions in an environment where the idea of ‘every man for himself’ is heavily stressed upon.

Despite having a withdrawn air about him, Kenma’s soft touch gives off a feeling of warmth. Something Akaashi doesn’t even feel much from his own home, back in Fukurodani.  
  
The only _real_ warmth that radiated back at home was Bokuto. Like Hinata, Bokuto seemed to radiate energy and an inexhaustible hope.

Exhaling, Kenma determines that his wound hasn’t gotten any worse, so all he does is secure the wrap again to make sure it isn’t loosening. He sits right next to Akaashi, folding his legs up against himself, as the two sit in comfortable silence while watching Kuroo and Bokuto catch fish.

“Thank you,” Akaashi says, though the end of his words seem to wane. Kenma doesn’t budge, but he’s listening. Taking a breath, Akaashi continues. “For helping me… and for trusting us.”

It’s a few seconds before Kenma responds, eyes focused forward, on the tall bed-headed tribute, pointing at Bokuto with a smug, playful grin on his face.  
  
“You’re welcome.”

A loud “Yes!” soon comes from Bokuto nearby in the river and he rests his free hand on his hip to emphasize to Kuroo that _he_ had _also_ caught a fish. Kuroo tells him to keep his voice down, teasingly splashing the other with water.  
  
It seems like a quick and easy process—the two make a wonderful team. They both catch a good number of fish with just a pair of quick hands and Bokuto’s knife. It’s a nice scene, almost like two friends who went camping but forgot their fishing rods.

* * *

  
It almost makes them forget.

* * *

  
  
As the sun begins to set on the first day, they settle on an area deep within the forest, on high ground, with enough shrubbery around to make it almost impossible for someone to approach without their knowing.

Once settled, they gut and clean the fish, still fresh from the catch and eat it raw. It was too dark now to make a fire. It would bring too much attention to them.

 “There a lot of fish where you’re from?” Kuroo asks, savoring each bite. Meat was scarce back in Nekoma, along with everything else. ~~  
~~  
“Some!” Bokuto replies, bringing up a piece to his mouth. “We like fish, but we’re not exactly around big bodies of water.”

“Really? Fukurodani? District of Power? Isn’t the other side of that huge dam in the Capitol where you live?”

“Fukurodani is a large district. The dam and the river are far from where we actually live.” Akaashi answers, shifting in his seat after swallowing a piece.

Kuroo nods silently in response. He wonders about the status and living situations in District Five.  
  
Did the Capitol perhaps order it so that only wealthy people lived near the river and the dam, while the less fortunate live further away? And by extension, further away from the Capitol itself?  
  
 (The Capitol was notorious for wanting to separate itself from ‘filth’ after all.)

He wouldn’t be surprised.

He then glances at Kenma, who shifts slightly near him, curling up in muted glee. He loved fish. They rarely ever had it back home, so it was a delicacy. If they survived, no, _when_ they go home, he would make sure to take the Capitol up on their promises to reward them. Kenma would finally have something to eat and they wouldn’t be just scraping by.

It was a shallow reward, one he knows won’t dampen the wounds (both physical and mental) they will inevitably receive here, but at least, at the _very_ least, it was something.

He would drain the Capitol for all it was worth if given the opportunity.

“Do _you_ get a lot of food where you’re from? District Nekoma, agriculture, harvest—you probably have a lot of crops where you’re from!” Bokuto adds, leaning back against a boulder for support.

Kuroo smirks, though mirthlessly. “Heh. Well, not that we could taste, anyway.”

Bokuto looks up in question, but Kuroo continues on. “You guys are from a wealthier district, so you must eat better, right?”

“Well… we have enough to ensure we don’t starve. But I lead a hunting pack into the forest every night to get extra food for the kids and the elderly. Akaashi and I actually.”

“I’m second in-command,” Akaashi adds in, between gulps of food. “I lead another team back towards the other end of the forest so we can maximize the amount of extra food we come home with.”

“It always seems like a lot.” Bokuto says. His tone is happy, but his words were otherwise. “But it isn’t.”  
  
Akaashi swallows, bringing up their water bottle to his mouth, taking the smallest bit of water in the hopes of conserving the rest. “When we divide it up, it’s only barely enough.”  
  
Kuroo blinks.  
He didn’t expect Bokuto and Akaashi to actually _go out of their_ way to help others from their district. He knew they were good people, but…

If he didn’t know any better, he would wonder if the Capitol brought them here _on purpose_.  
  
  
Bokuto finishes his food, this time, opting up to lean against a tree trunk, crossing his arms. It’s around this time when the Capitol’s obnoxious, patriotic music plays.  Bokuto shifts, knowing what is coming, but makes no attempt to look up at the skies for the inevitable. Akaashi winces, hand resting on his wound as he tilts his chin towards the sky and Kenma moves slightly into Kuroo.

Eight dead.  
  
Careers all survived.  
_Of course._

Looks like Sawamura was still alive and… Kuroo thinks, looking at Kenma’s now somewhat brightened eyes…

 _Hinata_ is too.  
  
Kuroo leans back, stretching his legs in front of him. While it _is_ good that Sawamura and Hinata are still alive, Kuroo can’t help but think that the longer they both continue to survive, the more the likelihood of them facing each other in the arena. He takes in a deep breath, pushing the thought away into the back of his mind. He didn’t want to have to think about that now. He turns his attention back towards Bokuto.

The image laid out in front of him is difficult to watch. Bokuto is trying, trying _hard_ , to keep it all out. His head forced down, eyes shut _tight_ , with Akaashi’s gentle hand in his hair. It was a soft moment, and a s  
sad one.

* * *

  
That was one way Bokuto had of keeping this reality temporarily at bay.

* * *

 

The first night goes by quietly. Each person takes turns throughout the night to stay awake and keep watch. The night is colder than initially anticipated—and the ‘couple’ sleeping bag the Capitol provided kept them warm and comfortable. Kenma is curled up into Kuroo, eyes shut, with his hair falling over his face. He is breathing lightly, shallow, just like he does when they stop for a nap back at home.

Kuroo looks away, turning enough to be able to look up at the stars, but not disturb Kenma in his sleep. Kenma snuggles up into him as he changes positions, leaning into that warmth—even as he sleeps.

.  
  
..  
  
…

At dawn, Kenma is the first one awake, perched high up in a tree to watch the fake sunrise. The first thing Kuroo hears is a bit of rustling above him, Kenma munching on some fruits he had scavenged while staring off into the distance. He’s probably wondering where Hinata may have ended up.

Kuroo then goes to pack up their things, making sure they’re ready for the day ahead. He glances up at the sleeping faces of the Bokuto and Akaashi, who have hinted to him that perhaps things weren’t so great in “wealthier” districts after all.  Perhaps not all wealthy districts were created equal.

 _They seem so peaceful_ , Kuroo thinks to himself. He doesn’t want to wake them, but they had stayed in one place too long and need to continue moving soon.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

The two tributes from Fukurodani, two more people he hoped he didn’t have to face in the end.  
He needs to stop making friends.  
  
Needs to stop getting emotionally involved.  
This was dangerous _, too_ dangerous in an arena where they could risk nothing.

* * *

 

They’re up and moving earlier than expected—and it shows. Though Bokuto and Akaashi are strong-willed and able, Kuroo can see they aren’t used to being awake before the crack of dawn. Their faces are drained more than usual, despite their eagerness to trek through the woods with their new allies. There’s a slight sway in Bokuto’s gait and he’s using increased concentration as he walks, staring down at his feet moving one after the other.

Kuroo and Kenma are the opposite, unusually awake and alert for the time. For the most part, they walk side by side, with Kuroo leading only slightly. He’s moving where his instincts tell him to go, unless he feels a small nudge from Kenma.

Bokuto lets out a guttural sound of exhaustion, yawning loudly. Kenma’s eyes narrow in annoyance, looking over at him for the unnecessary noise making, but says nothing.

“Are you  _sure_  there are safe places to hide over here?”  Despite his perceived exhaustion, Bokuto’s voice consistently has that classic, infectious energy. His hands tighten around the shaft of his knife and he pulls it out, cutting branches in front of them in a way that doesn’t lead to an obvious trail. He cuts purposely towards a trail to their left to make their path less readable to anyone following.

“Heh,” Kuroo stretches as well, pleased with Bokuto’s sense as he cuts through. Kenma flinches at every sound as it hits the ground, hands digging deep into his pockets. The four are close enough that with every step, they bump into each other. “The deeper we get into the forest, the heavier and denser the trees become. Hence, more hiding spots. Or did you not  _notice_  that?” 

  
He can’t help teasing Bokuto. It’s just too much fun.

 

In a different world and in a different time, he’s sure he and Bokuto would have made an amazing team in much more ways than one.  
  
  
  
It already felt like they were old friends, despite not having actually known each other for long.

  
Bokuto pouts, but laughs at Kuroo’s expression. “Wasn’t exactly paying attention to  _that_.”  The energy in his voice hasn’t subsided, he’s even resorted to wildly flailing his hands (including the one with the knife, Kuroo regards, as Kenma steps away, face now scrunching to emphasize his displeasure) to emphasize his point.  “You know, especially after seeing that bloodbath at the Cornucopia.”  
  
Kuroo frowns, the sudden change in subject causing him to become more serious. Despite having been together the past day, he didn’t actually ask them about their experience in the Cornucopia. It seemed like too fresh a wound—and the two tributes didn’t appear keen on relating any information. He was surprised Bokuto mentioned it at all.  
  
He remembers Akaashi’s injury.

   
“You ran as quick as we did, didn’t you?”  
  
“Akaashi and I stayed a few moments longer to salvage what we could. Like I told you earlier…We headed straight for the Cornucopia.” He lets out a heavy sigh, one that shakes and weakens towards the end. There is a momentary silence within the group, until Bokuto cranes his head towards Akaashi. His eyes are glazed, but he says nothing. The grip on his knife becomes tighter.

 

Though winded, Akaashi side-glances him, quietly bumping into him. His voice is confident, despite its palpable exhaustion. 

"…I'm fine. I said don't worry about it. It was the plan to begin with." 

Kuroo can feel the heaviness in the air. He decides to lighten it before it gets worse.

"It's a good thing Kenma was able to help you.” His eyes momentarily shift over to the two tributes from Fukurodani, before looking back at Kenma. “It could’ve just as easily bled out." Kuroo is proud and can’t help but move towards Kenma, giving him a languid grin before leaning his head down to nuzzle his face. “He’s always been a quick thinker. Reliable.”

Kenma momentarily accepts this gesture, leaning in on his own. His face pinks immediately though, and he looks down, stepping slightly away from the taller after a few seconds of contact. Kuroo chuckles.

Bokuto has his hands linked behind his head, staring over at them, wide-eyed and curious: _owl like_. The pout plastered on his face remains and he begins to make obvious side glances at Akaashi. If he wasn’t holding a knife, Kuroo guarantees he’d be twiddling his fingers in hopeful gesture to Akaashi.

"Yes, thank you." Akaashi doesn’t appear to notice Bokuto’s actions, because he has his head turned over towards Kenma. His face is soft and again full of gratitude.

Kuroo thinks it’s ridiculous to think that anyone would have left Akaashi bleeding to death, but he needs to remind himself that they’re in the Games.  
  
Leaving someone to die is _exactly_ what a person has to do.  
What a person is sometimes _trained_ to do from birth.

There is another pause, though not as debilitating as the last. As they continue to walk, they find themselves walking near a small chasm.

“…So… who survived again?” Bokuto’s voice takes on a somber tone, one that is low and hesitant.  The energy he had earlier on seems to deplete with every word. “I…sort of looked away when they projected the pictures last night. Didn’t want to see someone I talked to personally while training.”

                                                                       

So he really didn’t look up at all.  
  
“All the Careers survived.” Akaashi responds hastily. It’s clear that Akaashi doesn’t want Bokuto to revisit those thoughts of melancholy. It was probably a good idea to keep the latter away from thoughts like those, but he knew for Akaashi it was more than just strategy. He learned from his meetings with them that they were closer than they let on, and Akaashi didn’t want Bokuto go through unneeded suffering if he didn’t _absolutely_ have to.

 

Kuroo can’t help but scoff, laughing grimly. He finds himself muttering, though he didn’t mean to out loud: “ _Of course. They started the bloodbath to begin with.”  
  
_ Akaashi continues, but with care. His eyes make slight movements back to his partner, but Bokuto has gone back to slicing branches in front of them. “I think both the tributes from three died… six also. But I’m not sure.” 

Akaashi more than likely didn’t want to remember the faces he saw last night either. 

"You'd think Wakutani South would do better, being a wealthier district, but..."  
  
Kenma interjects.  
  
“…Shouyou is alright. I saw him run into the forest not long before we did.”

Kuroo isn’t surprised Kenma made sure to watch Hinata, even during the countdown. Nothing could change how happy he looked when he was validated with the fact that Hinata’s face _wouldn’t_ be projected up in the sky with the other fallen tributes.  
  
Bokuto presses his lips together, tilting his head and squinting his eyes. The name doesn’t immediately register a face in his mind, but when his eyes open, Kuroo knows he’s got it.  
  
 “Shouyou—ah,” Bokuto’s voice immediately takes on a cheerful sound of pleased recognition, “— _Oooh!_  Hinata!” He shouts raspily. "I'm glad that kid's safe!” He lifts his free hand up to his silvery-black streaked hair, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly, tightening his fingers around the roots of his hair.

Kuroo grins, opening his mouth to make a comment. But he thinks he heard something.  
His eyes veer over to the cliff aside them.

* * *

  
Was that an animal?

* * *

 

The others in their group are distracted. At this point, Bokuto’s curiosity about Hinata has won out over other emotions. His eyes are fixated on Kenma, but Kenma hunches over immediately when addressed directly. He shuffles away, situating himself on Kuroo’s other side, towards the cliff where Kuroo is sure he heard a sound.

 

Kuroo chuckles, ruffling Kenma’s hair affectionately.  
He smirks towards the direction of the cliff, towards the sound he heard.

* * *

  
_Hm.  
  
_

* * *

.

 

..

 

…

 

Kuroo turns, answering for Kenma, protecting his personal space. “Don’t know much about what happened to the little guy.”  
  
“He must be fine.” Bokuto ends up answering his own question in confidence. He puts his finger up to his chin, nodding for effect. “His jump during the interviews was insane. I got to see it more during training, but… every time, it would surprise me.” His hands are on his hips now, because there isn’t anything Bokuto does that _doesn’t_ involve emphatic movement. “But he still wasn’t any match against any of my hits!” He immediately turns to his wounded partner, both reluctantly and beseechingly. “Right, Akaashi?!” 

 

Kuroo smirks, but it lacks his usual passion. There is a palpable shift in Bokuto’s voice.

Akaashi nods, agreeing with Bokuto, both encouragingly and insistent on his health. _“Yes, Bokuto, he wasn’t_  any _match_ at all  _compared to you”_ ), but he does change the subject any way, “don’t forget both he and the other tribute—“  
  
“Sawamura Daichi…” Kuroo drawls, tilting his head up to the sky as he stretches his limbs disinterestedly. He lets out a small purring sound, eyes slowly focusing on the cliff past Kenma.  
  
“Yes,” Akaashi replies in a small voice, “he received an eleven and his partner received a ten when it came to showing their skill set.” 

"Huh! That's right! That Sawamura,” He almost sounds breathless, what with how energetic his voice is, “He didn’t do anything during training that stood out, did he? I mean, he learned quickly, but an eleven?” 

Kuroo grins.

"I think Sawamura has a little something-something up his sleeve." Finally he turns away from the cliff, grin widening slightly before turning back to face Bokuto.  
  
Bokuto, however, seems to have taken his words in a different way however, now regarding Akaashi and his obvious injury.

 “…We’ll have to avoid them, then.”

 

 _He sounds so much like a leader at this point_ , Kuroo muses. His mind wanders to last night, remembering how Bokuto described ‘hunts’ he lead back in Fukurodani.  
  
A leader.  
He probably was even more so in his own district.  
And maybe the Capitol… noticed.  
  
_Maybe his reaping really wasn’t an accident at all.  
_  
“What if they find us?” Akaashi wonders. He looks up at Bokuto, before pursing his lips and unintentionally touching his own shoulder. For Akaashi to actually show that his shoulder was in pain (and in front of Bokuto), it must have affected him more than it seemed. Bokuto frowns, a hand reaching out to gently tug on Akaashi’s belt loop. He moves him so they are facing each other.

 

“Akaashi…”  

Akaashi shakes his head.

Aside him, Kuroo feels Kenma take hold of his sleeve.  
  
“They’re like us.” Kuroo chooses this moment to interrupt. He doesn’t want Bokuto to spiral into self-doubt and anxiety. They couldn’t afford it right now.

  
Bokuto doesn’t seem appeased by this, but out of the corner of Kuroo’s eyes, he sees Akaashi give Bokuto a slightly reassuring smile.

 

A, “ _we can handle anything_ ”, type of smile.  
  
There’s confidence in that smile Akaashi gives Bokuto—and it rekindles a feeling of hope.  
The arena hadn’t changed Bokuto and Akaashi, at least not to that point.  
  
  
He was confident now, maybe, to think that nothing _ever_ would.

 

Bokuto nods emphatically, crossing his arms determined. He narrows his eyes. “We’ll figure it out as soon as it happens then. For now,” he whispers, making a sideward glance to Akaashi that is almost unnoticeable to even Kuroo, “…let’s just find someplace safe.”

 

* * *

 

.  
  
..  
  
…

  
The group is far from the cliff side now and more concealed within the trees.  
It feels safe to speak about their plans.

“So…about that first day in the Games.” Kuroo stretches his neck, turning his head towards his comrades. “…You said you ran straight into the Cornucopia, right?” ~~~~

  
Bokuto opens his mouth, but Akaashi answers. “We did. But all we got away with was the knife.” He nods over at Bokuto.

“This knife was the best one there.” Bokuto interjects. “We could tell with the way the Careers were looking at it during the countdown.”

Aha. It seems even in times of stress their impressive powers of observation hadn’t dwindled at all.

“We got a perfect view of the Cornucopia, both inside and out.”  
  
Kuroo lifts his eyes to Akaashi, who raises an eyebrow.

“That’s what you were going to ask, right?”  
  
Kuroo smirks.  
Right.

* * *

 

“I have an idea.”

Kenma steps down from a tree he climbed to garner a broader understanding of their location. Upon finding out that they were quite a ways from the Cornucopia, they hike back towards it, all the while devising a plan for stealing some of the hoarded supplies. Not many people would take the chance to go head on with bloodthirsty Careers (and certainly no one would expect _Kenma_ of all people to make that plan), but Kuroo isn’t surprised.  
  
Kenma has always been sure in his own ability and in the people around him.  
  
He’s confident that with their teamwork combined with Bokuto and Akaashi’s, Kenma’s plan would become a certainty.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

Once near the edge of the forest, just where it opens it into the clearing, they stop and lay low. Kenma briefly checks on Akaashi’s wound to ensure it hasn’t opened up again. (Kenma isn’t paranoid, but he _is_ thorough, _very_ thorough with all things he ever does.) They narrow their eyes, honing in on what supplies or weapons to snatch, taking note of their exact location on the Cornucopia, the terrain around it, as well as finding out which path would be the fastest (and safest) exit. They couldn’t afford to waste any time.  

The plan relies entirely on stealth. If done well, and even more so if luck is on their side, they shouldn’t have to battle anyone.  
  
Kuroo’s eyes zoom in on the one Career tribute that stood out the most: Terushima Yuuji of District 2, Jozenji.  

Terushima stands arms folded, standing forward as if expecting a challenge. He has a small grin on his face, excited for the game—while his district partner, Bobata Kazuma, stood aside him. Standing on the other side of the clearing, but still within Jozenji’s sight, are the two tributes from District 1, Shiratorizawa, Reon Ohira, a large burly boy with short black hair and thick, short eyebrows, and Goshiki Tsutomu, a smaller, lean boy with a funny looking bowl cut. They wore black jackets just like the rest of them, only with purple and white lining.

Of course the Careers would form a temporary alliance. Kuroo smirked at the predictability of it all. He and Kenma never bothered to get to know the Careers at a personal level, but they did observe them from afar during training. Terushima and Bobata were incredibly quick and precise with their knife throwing. They could throw a bread knife at someone with such force and precision that it would kill that person on the spot. Goshiki and Reon on the other hand were more powerful than they were swift. Goshiki was reckless during training, while Reon was much more refined and graceful. Either way, people who have trained for this all of their life should never be taken lightly.

* * *

 

Once familiar with where each Career stood, the group moved themselves to be situated in a part of the forest right behind the Cornucopia.

Akaashi picks up a large stone and hands it to Bokuto.

“Please throw this as hard as you can.” He says, pointing towards a tree with birds perched up on its branches.

Bokuto takes the stone and grips it well. He grins, eyes lighting up at the confidence Akaashi always had in him. “With pleasure.” He then throttles it and it hits the tree with a loud thump, causing all the birds to flutter away in fear.

They notice the Careers turn their heads in that direction, and as expected, only two of them go over to investigate. Kuroo takes hold of another stone and throws it in the same direction (with significantly _less_ force than Bokuto), knocking on branches and finally landing in a bush. The sound of something scurrying off can be heard.  
  
_Probably a small animal_ , Kuroo thinks, which is perfect.

“Quick!” Terushima yells, and all four of them dash towards the tree.  
They think the animal is a tribute.

Once at the border and before the Careers disappear into the trees, Kuroo, Kenma and Bokuto sprint towards the Cornucopia, coming around it from the opposite end. Akaashi, who was ordered to stay hidden, stays low and watches the area in the trees where the Careers ran off into.

Kuroo swiftly picks up the sword he had his eyes on, sleek and silver, gripping it tightly. Bokuto also takes hold of another blade, and Kenma grabs a small backpack and two daggers _._ After, they all grab a small bag (unsure of what the insides were, but hopeful it was something valuable), quickly slinging each over their shoulders.

 _This feels too easy_ , Kuroo thought.

“ _Hey!_ ” They hear Akaashi’s whispered shout from behind the Cornucopia. That was the sign that they were  headed back.

Kuroo spots distinct rustling in the trees, they dash to hide behind the Cornucopia. They look back at Akaashi who is still laying low, signaling for them to stay put. They hear the Careers’ voices as they emerge from the woods.

“Just a damn rabbit.”

They were getting closer.

Kuroo makes a quick glance at Kenma, who is lying flat up against the cold steel wall of the Cornucopia, eyes wide, listening. Bokuto on the other hand is breathing deeply, gripping his weapon tightly. They couldn’t stay put for long, once the Careers notice their missing weapons, they will definitely start a search.

Kuroo looks back at Akaashi, who has a better view of here the Careers are, he isn’t looking at their group right now, he’s observing the others.

The Career group is eerily quiet, until one speaks, on the other side of that steel wall. Kuroo attempts to listen to their movements, but there is too much white noise from their surroundings. With the wind bustling through the trees, they should be able to get back into the forest unheard.

 Kuroo, Kenma and Bokuto take this as a cue and dash towards Akaashi.

Just before disappearing into the forest, Kuroo looks back, and luckily for them, it seems the Careers didn’t hear them.

* * *

  
He can’t shake the feeling that it was too easy.  
He almost thinks he saw Terushima look their way, with a _smirk_ playing on his lips.

* * *

 

  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
It’s that night, when they’re quiet around the camp getting ready to rest that Kuroo really takes a good look at his team. He looks at Bokuto and Akaashi, both getting ready to curl up into their makeshift beds, then back to Kenma, curling up into his and Kuroo’s absurd ‘couple’ sleeping bag.

It’s _that_ night that Kuroo realizes they’ve successfully taken what they needed from the Careers—relatively without a scratch.  
  
It’s _also_ that night that Kuroo realizes this probably marks the near end of their alliance.  
  
  
And he realizes too, that night, that he and Kenma liked Bokuto and Akaashi _far too much_ to break it off.

 

He knew neither group was willing to take the first step in going against the other. So instead of waiting until they hit that moment where they had absolutely no choice but to turn on their comrades, to betray them— he figures it probably would be best to leave before it happened.  
  
He _wouldn’t_ , he _refused_ to play the Capitol’s game. He _wouldn’t_ turn on them.

Kenma reaches out, gently tugging him towards their sleeping bag. Kenma turns to Kuroo, nodding. Kenma understands.

If all went well, they would leave sometime tomorrow afternoon, while Akaashi and Bokuto were distracted.

They would leave a few supplies, some extra medicine (successfully snatched from the Careers) and bandages for Akaashi’s wound, then head out.

At least that would help Fukurodani.  
They wouldn’t be left out in the open, or left any more vulnerable than anyone else due to Akaashi’s injuries.  
  
Kuroo heard the Capitol’s medicines worked miracles and he hoped it was true.  
He hoped— for the sake of their team.

* * *

 

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
That night, the Capitol shows no faces in the sky.

 

* * *

 

.

 

..

 

…

  
When they wake up that next morning, they are all in one piece. Akaashi is awake, because his watch shift had been the last until they all got up for the day. It’s quiet, but both parties seem even more intent to make it through the day than ever. It may have been the fact they’ve made it _this_ long, but both teams seem to have established a standing sense of overall confidence, enough to trick them into feeling, _hoping_ that it was enough to survive.

They decide to head back towards the water to grab one more drink of water when it comes out of nowhere.

“Was it this way?”  
  
“I think it’s further down here. Remember this vine?”

Bokuto sighs, kicking a rock ahead of them dismally. Being thirsty, he’s more than likely losing steam. Kuroo is sure it is in this direction, it is only a matter of getting back. The walk seems longer because they are even more exhausted today than they were the first time. Putting all that energy into stealing from the Careers reserves depleted them of both energy and physical power.

 _Damn_. He bit his lip.  
They’d better get to shelter soon.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
“Ah! Isn’t it to the right…?”  
  
“It’s— ** _ngh_** —!”

Kuroo hears a sharp gasp and whips his head around. Immediately, he hears the sound of two metals clashing—then scraping together with a loud, raucous noise. The screeching sound makes him wince, causing his body to curl forward at the angry noise. Bokuto has his sword up against a spear—against _Matsukawa_ , a tribute from Aoba Johsai, that seems to have appeared from out of nowhere. Matsukawa purses his lips, pushing his weight forward against his stronger leg.

He has the upper hand.  
  
_It was an ambush._  
  
How did none of them detect Aoba Johsai at all?  Were these two waiting for them to walk by? Bokuto’s hand begins to shake and his sword inches closer to his face as Matsukawa bites down, gritting his teeth while pushing with even more intense pressure.

The moments seem to have elapsed in slow motion to only a second— and it isn’t long until Kuroo sees a small bead of blood form from a line on Bokuto’s face—a sign that his sword was being pushed down hard enough that it is almost about to cut through his face.

It’s also a sign of just how lethal Aoba Johsai is—and just how lethal their weapons are.  
  
  
In that flash, Kuroo sees a small ribbon wrapped around the base of Matsukawa’s sword.

“G-Get out of here!” Bokuto yells, each word forced out with a gasp. He puts all of his strength into one hand, releasing the other to push Akaashi out of the way. His feet are digging deeply into the ground, with the tops of his boots nearly submerging themselves.

“ _No_ —!“                                 

Kenma pulls Akaashi away, grasping onto his uninjured arm attempting to flee. It takes a few long moments of hesitation before Akaashi is successfully dragged from Bokuto and Kenma stumbles along the terrain having to pull him.  
  
With Akaashi out of the way, Kuroo rushes forward, knocking all of his weight into Matsukawa’s side, causing him to stagger and lose balance, falling to the ground. Bokuto stumbles as well, but is able to set up a proper defensive stance. Kuroo quickly unsheathes his silver sword, the one he stole yesterday. Still on the ground, Matsukawa finds himself outnumbered—

_But there should be two tributes per district._

One is missing.  
The small one.  
Where is Matsukawa’s partner?  
_Kunimi,_ right?  
  
Kunimi. _Kunimi._  
_Where is_ —  
  
Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the glimmer of a knife reaching out to Kenma.  
  
Kuroo whirls about, thrusting a long arm out in Kenma’s direction—

“ _Ken—!“  
_  
Kenma immediately turns—pulling back— just enough for the blade to only give him a superficial wound on the top of his shoulder. Kunimi rushes out, leaves rustling around him in full camouflage with all the foliage around them, explaining why he and Matsukawa had been so perfectly out of sight.

.

 

..

 

…

 

And the next thing he knows, _they’re running._

The adrenaline rush from the ambush left them in a state of high energy, running so fast that the images around them were turning into simple blurs.

“Hurry! Up that way!”  
  
“Kunimi!” He can hear Matsukawa call out to his partner, but Matsukawa is careful enough not to disclose what he is saying verbally. He is sure Kunimi understands what he is saying, because Kunimi takes a turn somewhere from the corner of his eye, and he doesn’t know _where_ he’ll pop up again.  
  
_Where is he going?  
_ They’re fast.  
Aoba Johsai is _fast—  
They’re too fast—_

He’d forgotten about them—momentarily—since they had laid all their focus on Shiratorizawa and Jozenji.  
  
How could he forget about the third group of Careers??

Akaashi is panting, grunting with each step as Bokuto pulls at his non-injured arm as fast as he can.

And _that’_ s when it happens.

The sun had set so quickly that it was suddenly night, and they only realized they were near a steep ravine until it was too late.

.

..

…

Kuroo sees one last flash of that yellow, that _familiar, pudding head_ — _and it’s_ _gone_.

* * *

  
Kenma is gone.

* * *

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Author K]: Oh my goodness, I don’t even know where to begin, other than we are so incredibly sorry that this chapter took THAT long to come out. We truly didn’t mean to keep you all waiting that long. (Though, if we’re being honest, this chapter might have come out two weeks ago if not for Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild… XD;;; ) 
> 
> This chapter was as difficult (if not MORE difficult) to write than Sugawara’s chapter and I can’t even count how many times we went through this back and forth, changing things, adding things, transitioning things—everything. As I was writing, Kuroo just WOULDN’T cooperate with me and we just weren’t satisfied. That and real life got ahold of us. =u=
> 
> That said, thank you all SO MUCH for sticking around this long. Thank you to all of you that recommended this story, that commented—that reread it over again. We hope that at least the length (and romance XD) of this chapter will make up for the lack of progress since the last chapter was released. 
> 
> I’m sorry we haven’t revealed what happened to Hinata yet, but hang in there! I know we’ve said it before, but the next chapter really shouldn’t take as long as this one to come out—because it’s pretty much written in advance already. (This chapter wasn’t, obviously, although I’m wishing it was. /sobs into hands/)
> 
> Also just a few things, for those who are curious or interested…
> 
> 1\. On Akaashi’s wound: As I wrote this, I kept sitting here trying to think of what treatments would be good for Akaashi’s shoulder. I tried not to be too obsessive about that (even though I did end up thinking about it way too much)—because I figure the Capitol has probably grown and engineered a new species of plants specifically for the Games. ……….Like a plant that would conveniently cause immediate coagulation so Akaashi doesn’t bleed out, go into hypovolemic shock and die. I mean, in the book, if I remember correctly, they did have a magical syringe that healed a wound, right? LOL /laughs/
> 
> Luckily they have magical Capitol medication and treatments to instantly save the day~!
> 
> 2\. Why Jouzenji? Aren’t there a million other well-known characters and teams?: Well… yes. But we’ve picked Jouzenji for a reason. We’re saving the other characters. Plus, Terushima is sort of the perfect personality to use in this, you’ll see. ^_^ (We also can’t see Aoba Johsai teaming with Shiratorizawa, for obvious reasons…)
> 
> 3\. OIKAWA LITERALLY MY FAVORITE THING IN THIS ENTIRE CHAPTER. I HAVE BEEN DROWNED IN AOBA JOHSAI FEELS THIS PAST YEAR, I CAN’T EVEN. We did get a question a while back on whether we would have a MatsuHana team… and obviously, they aren’t together in the Games. That’s also done purposely. For those of you who asked, Aoba Johsai will eventually play out to have a bigger role.
> 
> As always, thank you for sticking through with us! We can’t express how much you all put a smile on our faces, so please please please comment if you wish. We enjoy your feedback and love to hear from you! Don’t be shy. <3
> 
> _
> 
> [Author M]: I’m sure K caught you up on everything. If you’re still here a year later, thank you for sticking around! We really appreciate your patience.
> 
> Goodnight!


	12. Sawamura Daichi

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies in advance for the wonky spacing. I attempted to fix it. lol -M

**Sawamura, Daichi  
  
**_He is sitting on the couch in his now completely_ empty _home.  
  
It feels vast instead of cozy and it’s uncomfortably cold sitting as he is in a simple white shirt and pajama pants. The air is filled with what feels like frozen—stagnant—_ almost _obstructive air. He is totally devoid of emotion, but his mind is both empty and overflowing with thoughts as he stares both fiercely and vacantly at the window.  
  
He had planned to go through with the upcoming day as if nothing had happened— to continue life as usual, because that’s what absolutely _ had _to happen. But instead, to his dismay—he is seated here, arms crossed, unreactive and inhumanly still._

_He heard the news late last night, while the rest of the district had been sleeping. Someone—who he assumed was his father—was knocking at the door. He had promptly jumped off of the bed, dragging his bare feet against the chilly wooden floor, following the soft tapping sound at the front of the house.  
  
Too groggy to think clearly after pulling himself out of bed, he guessed that maybe his father had just forgotten his keys. _

_He is rubbing his eyes sleepily when he finally notices that the person at the door isn’t his father at all—it was someone else. Someone he didn’t personally recognize, but someone he_ could _recognize as a mine worker. The tell-tale signs were all over his clothing, the dark, dust-like substance, the gloves, the tired, bloodshot eyes—  
  
All these thoughts are rushing through his head when the individual finally speaks, his voice barely above that of a light murmur. _

The mines had collapsed. _  
  
His father is dead. _

_  
He thinks he heard the person mutter “I’m sorry,” and there isn’t much he can recall after that. The news was passed on so casually, like the man had just warned him of an upcoming thunderstorm. Daichi stood at the door for several minutes after, unable to fully comprehend the man’s words. He could feel his mouth open and close, wordless, but questioning.  
  
When he came to, the man was gone. There was nothing at the door to acknowledge Daichi except a bitter wind that seemed to bite harshly at his face. The only evidence left of any presence actually being there were muddy footprints settled a few inches outside of his door. Daichi shuts the door vaguely, intending to return to his bed, but instead turns and opts to sit on the couch instead.  
_

_His father is dead.  
  
He would have to fend for his own.  
Sixteen, and an orphan.  
  
What was the last thing he even said to his father?  
  
_

_Daichi furrows his brows in confusion, wondering for a moment if he had just imagined the man there._

_Were those footprints made by someone earlier that day?_

_._

_.._

_…_

_It must have taken hours for the news to properly sink in, because it was around two in the morning when the man had appeared and now, the sun is already beginning to rise. The rays of light are soft and carefully dispersed throughout the house, but still, they stung Daichi’s eyes.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…_

_He should’ve been out in the forests with Sugawara half an hour ago._

_His door slams open, shaking against the wall. Daichi doesn’t react. He can see from his peripheral vision who it is. He’s unsure of how to respond, how to even greet the other._

_“Daichi!” Sugawara runs to him, hastily shutting the door behind him, cursing lightly when the door stubbornly becomes stuck upon closure. Daichi can hear the clinking of Sugawara’s keys in his pocket as he rushes over._

_Daichi is staring down, down at his own feet._

_He is met with two familiar brown eyes, brimming with emotion. Sugawara is on his knees on the wooden floor, looking up at Daichi, probably figuring that this was the only way he could properly get Daichi’s attention. Sugawara’s lips are shaking and Daichi can see the elevation of his chest, in and out,_ in and out _as he breathes heavily._

_He must’ve run here as fast as he could after hearing the news.  
  
_

_"Daichi…” He can feel Sugawara gently take hold of his hands, tightening his grip on them firmly. Sugawara says nothing more, staring up at Daichi with an uncertain_ but strong _gaze._

_._

_.._

_…  
  
Daichi is grateful for the quiet.  
He doesn’t want anything but silence.  
  
He wouldn’t know how to react to anything else. He _ didn’t _want to_ react _, period._

_They stay like that for what seems like forever. Sugawara on his knees, cradling Daichi’s bigger hands into his own cold ones, staring intensely up at Daichi, while Daichi sits, gazing blankly at nothing, entirely idle and unmoving.  
  
_

__  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…_

It takes over an hour. _  
  
Daichi blinks, looking down at Sugawara, whose gaze is still fixed up at him, eyes determined, emotive, resolute and strong. His lips are curved down in a solemn frown, his brows furrowed in concern. His cold hands have warmed up—and more importantly—they haven’t moved from their place, cradled around his own. _

_Finally, Daichi speaks. “…I’m alright.”  
  
Daichi doesn’t make eye contact with the other, only glances down at their hands, _ his _hands in Sugawara’s paler ones. He moves his hands, not away, but lifting them to rest on their backs, palms faced upward.  
  
He bites his bottom lip.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
He swallows._

_“…You can sit next to me, you know. The floor…” Daichi’s voice cracks when as he attempts to speak, voice trailing off before continuing in a monotone, torpid voice. “…It’s not comfortable.”  
  
“Daichi.” Sugawara’s voice is firm. He doesn’t respond.  
  
All he does is tighten his grip on Daichi’s hands to make his presence known. Sugawara knows not to ask if Daichi is alright, he knows not to ask stupid questions just to break the silence because he knows that Daichi has always hated it, _ hated it, _when people just deferred to saying things like that._

 _  
Why ask if someone is alright?  
What is the _ point _of that?  
  
_

_A loved one is dead._

_They are never returning.  
  
_ Obviously _, they aren’t okay._

_So instead, Sugawara’s lips part softly, sounding out his sentence before he allows the words to escape.  
  
“I heard this morning.”  
  
Daichi figured that Sugawara had heard the news on his way to meet him at the town square. News travelled unbelievably fast in a district that had nothing else to entertain or talk to each other about. Daichi was never the type to participate in idle gossip and he can feel his forehead begin to crease at the thought of the villagers talking about him, wondering about his situation. His brows turn inward in confusion.  
  
“…I…” Daichi looks up at Sugawara. “I got a knock on the door last night.”  
  
Sugawara sighs. “And you’ve been sitting here ever since.”  
  
It wasn’t a question. _

_Daichi doesn’t answer._

_He can hear the floor creak beneath them as Sugawara moves to stand. There’s a rush of immediate cold on Daichi’s now released hands, and he moves his fingers experimentally at the sensation.  
  
_ He thinks that he preferred it more when they were warm, when Sugawara’s hands were there. _  
  
There was a slight wince in Sugawara’s face as he rose, knees stiff from their previous position, with his pants wrinkled and dusty where he had settled himself on the floor.  
  
“You’re freezing.” Sugawara states, going into Daichi’s room and grabbing a thin blanket off of the bed. He hands it to Daichi, who after a few delayed seconds took hold of it. Sugawara turns, and soon Daichi hears rustling in the kitchen._

_Sugawara returns moments later with a boiling cup of water and some leftovers from Daichi’s kitchen table. He lays the food beside Daichi, on an old table. He doesn’t prompt Daichi to eat or drink. Instead, he sits next to Daichi, with that look of resilience still plastered on his face. “I’m staying.”  
  
Before Daichi can answer, Sugawara shakes his head and interrupts resolutely.  
He repeats: “I’m staying.”   
  
It isn’t long after when Daichi feels his throat hitch.  
His house is empty, but right now, it doesn’t feel that way. It never did, not when Suga was around. Even now, it doesn’t feel that way, empty and cold, even with his father gone.  
  
He looks down, clenching his fists, opening them, then clenching them again by his sides before beginning to shake. _

_He can feel Sugawara’s body shift next to him, moving to pull him into a tight embrace._

_“It’s okay.”  
  
It’s okay.  
What Sugawara really meant was, ‘Go ahead.’  
He was giving Daichi the okay to _ break _, because he knew Daichi could no longer hold it in.  
  
_

And for the first time since Daichi could remember, he cried— cried bitterly. _  
  
Sugawara says nothing, just keeps a firm hold on Daichi’s shoulders, keeping close, murmuring into his hair about staying right there.   
  
“We’ll be okay, Daichi.” He takes a deep breath before he repeats himself, as if attempting to convince himself of his own words. “…We’ll be okay.”  
  
_  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
  
When Daichi wakes the next day, he finds himself sprawled out on the couch, his blanket tucked carefully around him. Sugawara is nowhere to be seen, and he wonders vaguely if the other had left sometime during the night after he fell asleep._

_His eyes feel swollen and sore and it’s challenging to even open them. The sun isn’t up yet, but something in him is inclined to get up and start moving. He forces his body into a seated position.  
  
With lungs heavy and back aching, he takes a slow, deep breath._

_He hears rustling outside, the comforting sounds of a key clinking at the door. He glances over at the door, watching as Sugawara enters with a small bag hanging around his wrist. He scuffs his shoes at the doorway before removing them and placing them aside Daichi’s and his father’s._

_Daichi’s eyes pause on his father’s shoes._

_“Daichi? You’re awake?” He asks, lifting his head, with a mild look of surprise. His voice is quiet, but he smiles reassuringly at the other._

_It’s one of those smiles where Sugawara is telling him to speak if he wants— but not to speak if he doesn’t want to.  
  
He can hear the unspoken words as Suga makes his way into the kitchen. _

_‘I’m here.’  
                                                        
_  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…_

_  
Despite his attempt, Daichi doesn’t—_ can’t _get up._

__  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
After a few hours of lying inert on the couch, Daichi finally rises to enter his bathroom to wash his face. He grimaces at the state of his eyes, uncomfortably puffy, intensely red. His face is sallow and blotchy and there’s a crease that indented itself onto his cheek from a wrinkle on his blanket. He mutters something under his breath, something about how happy he is that there aren’t any mirrors plastered on the walls inside the house. Daichi was never one to really care about physical appearance, but he didn’t want a visible manifestation of the events that had occurred. _

_When he leaves the bathroom, he smells something distantly familiar, something that he and Sugawara rarely, if ever, were able to indulge in. He finds himself walking towards the kitchen curiously; Sugawara’s back is turned to him, mixing something on his stovetop._

_“…Koushi?” He asks questioningly, tilting his head and narrowing his eyes._

_“Mm?”  Sugawara turns his head acknowledging his presence with alacrity. “Hey, take a seat. We’re having shoyu ramen today. Made it from mostly from scratch!” He turns, with a steaming bowl in his hands, grinning with that mischievous grin on his face._

_  
Daichi blinks.  
As with everything else, he’s unable to process what Sugawara had just said.  
He is currently being pushed into a chair.  
  
_

_“…Shoyu ramen…? But where did you—“  
  
“Don’t worry about it. Just traded some things.” He says dismissively, waving a hand as if it wasn’t a serious matter. (It was.)  
  
Suga makes a small “heh” sound as he takes a seat, grinning at Daichi as he waits for him to have a taste.  
  
And Daichi looks down at the bowl, the steaming noodles, the spices that he knew Sugawara and his father had saved and used sparingly for years, the meat that he knew was so hard-earned from Asahi and Noya, the garnishes they-absolutely-could-not afford… eggs, that Sugawara probably traded two squirrels, a week’s worth of food for…_

_Daichi swallows heavily, his throat once again feeling tight and constricted.  
Sugawara had made him shoyu ramen.  
  
_ Shoyu ramen.  
_His favorite._

_“Asahi and Noya asked if they could come visit later.” Sugawara says quietly, pouring some ramen for himself when he sees Daichi react.  
  
Daichi raises his eyes, quietly observing as Suga prepares a much smaller, meager amount than what he had previously given to Daichi. The corners of Sugawara’s lips curl into a soft smile. “It’s okay if you don’t want them to. They just said—“  
  
“Yeah.” Daichi replies, his voice hoarse. He swallows again. “…Y…Yeah, that’s fine.” He takes the spoon, dips it into the broth and takes a sip._

_It’s warm and comforting going down his throat.  
He can feel his eyes begin to sting again._

_Sugawara looks away, down at his own bowl, because he knew Daichi wouldn’t feel comfortable with his gaze fixed on him. Daichi isn’t used to being vulnerable.  
  
Sugawara can understand that.  
  
 “Then I’m going to save some of it for them.” Sugawara says gently, taking a slow, savory sip from his bowl. “But eat at as much as you like, okay?”  
  
“Nn.” Daichi says, because at this point it’s all he can manage. He shakily reaches down, back to that steaming bowl of ramen, shutting his eyes, his lips moving to say the words he always found himself thinking but never saying out loud for the other to hear.  
  
“…Thank you.” His voice catches when he takes another sip of the soup. He can feel himself beginning to tremble again, even though he’s doing absolutely everything in his power to stop it. “Everyone…” Even though Asahi and Noya aren’t there yet to hear his words, he shuts his eyes firmly and utters the words that he means with _ every fiber of his being _, again and again and again.  
  
“…Thank you.” _

  
__

 

.

..

…

**_“…Tch,” Daichi replies, gritting his teeth. “If you’re going to do it, then just do it fast.”_ **

****

**_._ **

**_.._ **

**_…_ ** _  
_

_  
  
  
“Thought you saw more in me than _that_ , Sawamura. I’d at least have the person _turn around_ before offing them, you know.” Kuroo scoffs, a chuckle resounding deep in his throat, lowering the sword in his hand as he speaks. “Hitting someone from the back…now _that’s_ a coward’s play.” 

Turning his head slightly, Daichi raises an incredulous brow at him. Kuroo smiles, then allows his body to relax—from standing tall and strong to more slouchy— with arms hanging uselessly aside him, uncannily similar to his partner’s baseline posture. Kuroo’s head is cocked to the side, eyes slightly narrowed and _with a glowing glint to them_.

Without wasting a second, Daichi takes the immediate advantage.  
  
He swiftly bends down onto the ground, clutches onto his makeshift spear and fluidly brings it up to Kuroo’s neck in one fell swoop. 

Kuroo doesn’t flinch.  
He doesn’t blink.  
  
He doesn’t _move_.  
  
He doesn’t even appear to _care.  
  
_ For a moment, only the soft hum of the wind encompasses them, gently lifting strands of hair from their heads. _  
_  
_What is he doing?  
Is he mocking me?_  
  
Kuroo tilts his head a little, then takes a step forward just enough for the arrowhead to make an indentation in the middle of his neck. There is crunch from the leaves beneath his boots as his smirk remains, staring down at Daichi with what appears to be... _confidence._ He doesn’t even _wince_ at the metal making a superficial cut to his skin.  
  
_What the hell is wrong with this guy?_

 

“Aren’t you going to ask why I didn’t kill you? Or are you going to stab that thing through me like some mindless idiot?” Kuroo is smiling now, smiling so tauntingly that Daichi can’t stop himself from scowling in irritation.  
  
Kuroo had just compared him to Capitol lackeys, to the _Careers_.  
  
Daichi _isn't_ a mindless idiot.  
And somehow, he knew Kuroo already knew that.  
Kuroo was pulling at his strings—just as he always had.  
  
Daichi grips his hand tighter on his spear, knuckles turning white as he strengthens his hold on his weapon, narrowing his eyes.

“Maybe you should’ve thought of that before letting your guard down.”

The following thoughts never escape from Daichi’s mouth but they are heard loud and clear between the two tributes.  
  
_So what if I_ am _just another mindless idiot?_  
_So what if I kill you now?  
So what _ then _?_  
  
“Hm…” Kuroo responds, in a lackadaisical, absentminded sing-song voice, eyes lifting up to the nearly completely darkened sky.  “Guess I should’ve…” He is grinning completely now, the edges of his feline eyes sweeping up towards the tips of the trees. His reticent behavior is provoking Daichi, in _all_ of the little ways he hates. Even if it doesn’t _feel_ malicious, more like an annoying sibling that’s _goading_ at him, it’s still _infuriating_ to him.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
They stand like that for a few moments, before Daichi finally growls, stubbornly yanking his spear away, careful not to cut the other. He continues to keep his spear raised in front of him, in a sort of awkward readiness to attack if the other decided to turn things back on him.

Kuroo nods, pleased, waving his hand dismissively at Daichi’s openly aggressive stance. He bats away— _disinterestedly_ — at Daichi’s weapon, making it move slightly to the side—as if it was just some play-thing and not a sharp, dangerous weapon fashioned to _kill_. “There, there now, I thought so.”  
  
And that’s when something in Daichi snaps.

Daichi allows his temper take a hold of him, snarling and planting his feet forward. He lets out a low _grunt_ and he can feel the soil beneath his feet dip in, muscles throughout his body clenching in response.

But the bed haired tribute speaks again, effectively halting Daichi’s movements.  
  
Daichi didn’t know what it was about Kuroo that exerted that much control over everyone else around him. He had that natural ‘leader’ quality and also a natural ability to cause people to become frozen still even in the middle of fluid movement.

“ _Anyway_ , you don’t want to rest here. We should head deeper into the forest—maybe that way.” He nods his head to the left. “The Careers are headed this way for one more kill before calling it a night. I know they won’t go that deep into this part of the forest in the darkness. Even _they_ aren’t that excited—or stupid enough to take the bait.” He shrugs, grin slightly waning (but somehow keeping all infuriating characteristics in tact). “Still, it’d probably be best if we covered our tracks.”

“Why should I trust you?” Daichi prompts, tightening his fists. “And what happened to _Fukurodani_? Did you finish them off?”  
  
Kuroo stares at him unphased. “We went to the Cornucopia to raid the weaponry while Jouzenji and Shiratorizawa were away. Stole some goods. Almost got caught _.”_ His eyes lift up to meet Daichi’s. _“It was great_.” His looked at Daichi unenthused, _sarcastic._

  
“What _happened_ to them?” Daichi says censoriously, repeating himself. When Daichi says _them,_ he means what happened to _Fukurodani._ His mind isn’t on whatever they did to the Careers. He _doesn’t_ care about that right now (and from the look on Kuroo’s face, he doesn’t appear phased by it either).  
  
What Daichi’s _really_ asking is:  
  
How did it _feel?_  
How did it feel to betray your friends like some brainwashed animal?  
  
Daichi didn’t know why he was being difficult, when he had no idea if he himself would turn out like that. He knew it was plausible, that given the right circumstances, he could snap, turning his back on everything he ever believed in. He knew anything was possible—and this wasn’t some fairy tale world where everyone would always innately _stay_ good.

In fact, with everything he’d been through so far, he almost questioned if people were innately good to _begin_ with.

He didn’t care. He didn’t care what Kuroo had to say about anyone else or any other tribute the Careers were after. Right now, right at this moment, all of his anger was aimed at this one person.  
  
This person standing in front of him.  
This person in front of him that probably didn’t _deserve_ any of his anger.  
Kuroo.  
  
Maybe it had been because of their weird _sort-of_ friendship, or maybe it was partially because Kuroo was from District Eleven, the one closest to his district, the one most likely to feel the tortures inflicted by the Capitol outside his own.  _Someone who could relate to him, who_ he _could relate with._

.

..

…

  
Kuroo’s soft grin dies down into a smaller smirk, as if reading Daichi’s thoughts. He seems… disappointed. Awkward, Daichi shifts his weight to his other foot.  
  
“…I left while their backs were turned.” The amusement in Kuroo’s tone drifts away when he lifts his hands, sword raising with his right hand as he exhales.  
  
Daichi makes a questioning gesture.  
Did he mean he _killed_ them while their backs were turned?  
  
Kuroo’s gaze meets his eyes and he answers simply. “ _Geez_ , Sawamura, didn’t I just tell you I’d never take anyone out with their backs turned?”  
  
So he _did kill—_

 _“_ Despite everything we’re going through and _expected_ to do, I _like_ them. I didn’t want to be the first to draw a weapon, so I left.”

Daichi is lowering his weapon, both in surprise and disbelief. “...What?” He heard what Kuroo said, but he just couldn’t believe it.  
  
His mind flits back to the moment he remained hidden against the rocks as Fukurodani and Nekoma passed by. Is that what Kuroo meant by “they’re like us”? Did that mean Fukurodani was the same? That they _all were?_  
  
“Kenma fell behind.”  
  
“Huh?” The change in subject throws Daichi off and he cannot hide the confusion in his face. “What do you mean, _fell_ behind?”

Daichi didn’t even notice the smaller tribute was gone.  
Kozume Kenma didn’t have strong presence, despite his bright yellow hair. He seemed to meld into the background, hidden away until he made his presence known with his soft, unassuming voice.

He also, as terrible as it sounds, was the last thing on Daichi’s mind.

Kuroo’s eyes flash, disapproving. He pulls his free hand up to his hip, leaning his head back and letting out a sigh. His eyes remain confident—certain.

  
Confidence.  
Certainty.  
  
Both things were hard to have and _keep_ while in the arena.

The bed-headed tribute licks his lips, biting lightly at his lower lip before releasing it to speak assertively.

“Look.”  
  
Daichi narrows his eyes.

“I _know_ that when you find that little guy…”  
  
Little guy?  
Did he mean…  
  
_Hinata_?  
  
Kuroo drops his sword on the ground, again leaving himself wholly vulnerable to attack. Daichi raises a surly brow, unsure of what he’s doing.

Kuroo doesn’t seem bothered by the fact Daichi could easily kill him at this instant.   
  
Kuroo is too focused on something else. He lifts his hands slowly to motion again, before hesitating and dropping them both to his sides.  
  
“I know that Kenma….” He trails off for a moment before finally revealing his intent, eyes hard and determined. “I _know_ that Kenma will be with him.”

Kuroo lowers his head, then lifts it to match his gaze with Daichi’s, regarding him as earnestly as he could. He clenches his fists, stepping forward—voice strong and unyielding.  
  
“I’m coming _with_ you, Sawamura.”

.  
  
.  
  
…

 

Their alliance happens just like that.  
Without warning, out of the blue.  
  
Daichi sputters, suddenly caught off guard before stepping back defensively in what he hoped was an adequate attempt to protect and distance himself from the other tribute. He hadn’t anticipated that the tribute from Nekoma wanted to form a team, especially after having just seen him lurking about with Fukurodani. Still, Daichi had been sought out for a purpose, and it hadn’t been the one Daichi had in mind. His thoughts were in a mess of jumbles and he is only able to stammer out a short, albeit straight-to-the-point response.  
  
 “ _W-What_?”

Kuroo shrugs disinterestedly, reaching down to grasp the sword he had previously dropped onto the ground. He begins to saunter towards the direction he alluded to earlier, waving idly back at Daichi, encouraging him to follow and addressing him while his back was turned.  
  
Again, Kuroo is completely vulnerable.  
He doesn’t even spare Daichi a second thought.

Is he _stupid_?  
Or does he trust that Daichi won’t kill him?  
_Scheming,_ that’s what he looked like he was doing.  
  
“Let’s go. Seriously, the Careers aren’t far. I can hear them rustling around.”  
  
“I didn’t—hey!” Daichi’s shout quickly morphs into a whisper as he turns his head swiftly to gaze at the dark path behind him, frowning when he hears and sees nothing. The grass is swaying with the wind and the light is fading. There’s absolutely nothing out of place.  
  
He isn’t sure if the tributes are hiding, if Kuroo just has incredible senses or if Kuroo is just playing him, creating a ploy to lead Daichi into a trap.  Daichi hesitates, taking a moment to begrudgingly glance over at other’s disappearing silhouette before choosing to follow nonetheless.

It wasn’t as if he had many choices to begin with.

Eventually, Daichi steps up to keep in stride with the surprisingly fast-paced tribute. Kuroo was always sluggishly stretching and lounging about— _like some cat basking in the sun_ — and Daichi never really saw him move with such purpose and determination. He almost thought it wasn’t possible.  
  
His mind flits back to Kuroo and Kenma’s supposed love story.  
Was there actually some truth in it?  
  
With every step, the forest becomes engulfed in even more darkness. It’s not pitch black, but it’s enough to make Daichi squint blindly, stumbling along next to the other tribute. Daichi is wholly out of his comfort zone, feeling the ground beneath his feet become rougher and more difficult to hike on. He turns to Kuroo, frowning in distaste.  
  
“Can you even _see_ where you’re going?”  
  
His voice is sharp with disfavor, annoyed with the events that had just come to pass. He knew he couldn’t control what occurred in the arena, but still, he should be _resting_ now—safe up in a tree looking out to survey the area.

  
Not traipsing about the forest going who-knows-where with some bizarre, provoking tribute.  
  
“Not as well as Fukurodani, if that’s what you’re asking. They can see in total darkness.” Kuroo pauses, extending his arm and stopping Daichi, looking around, craning an ear from side to side, as if listening for rustling noises. Daichi fights the snicker about to escape his lips—because the tribute is reminding him of how cats often cross the streets before actually looking.  
  
He never understood that.  
  
Not that he had much experience with cats to begin with.  
Mostly, back at home, there were only crows.  
  
Kuroo doesn’t seem to notice the curl of Daichi’s lips and is continuing to speak now, his voice barely above a whisper. “…But those from Nekoma shouldn’t be overlooked either.” Daichi can just scarcely make out Kuroo’s teasing smirk, the resounding pride in the other’s voice evident. “…We can also see better than average in poorly lit areas.”  
  
Daichi rolls his eyes, though it was more instinctual than meant to be scornful. “What, did you not reveal that at the interview because you wanted to surprise people in the arena?” He probably could’ve garnered more sponsors that way—not that he needed it. The “love story” between him and Kenma seemed to motivate the crowds extraordinarily enough on its own. There was even a ‘fanclub’ made during their short time in the Capitol, filled with a bunch of lovesick idiots who romanticized the thought of being in the arena _together._

He glances at Kuroo’s back, frowning.  He wonders again for a moment if the love story is really true at all (because with Kuroo and his infuriating face, you never knew), but decides not to ask.  
  
He can sense the languid glance Kuroo provides him from the corner of his eye, and because of his close proximity to the tribute, can feel him shrug indolently.  
  
“Nah, not really. It’s not a secret. Besides, I was distracted.”  
  
From the quality of his voice, Daichi infers that Kuroo meant he was distracted by his loathing of the Capitol. He probably only focused on how to answer the questions as best he could, perhaps didn’t even think about revealing any special abilities.  
  
Daichi crosses his arms, remembering his own cynical display at the tribute interviews. “…Heh. Me too.”

 

There’s something comforting about the fact that Daichi knows Kuroo probably hates that Capitol as much as he himself did. It wasn’t as if he came to the Hunger Games looking for common traits in others.

…Things that one would look for in friends.

 

Funny.  
They have a lot, maybe _too much_ , in common.

Daichi tightens his grip on his satchel shaking his head to dispel the thought.

__  
  
After about an hour of walking in the forest, turning at indiscriminate areas however many times, Daichi finally gives in, settling for just following Kuroo’s lead. He wonders if the tribute even knows where he is going, because it feels unplanned, without purpose and like a maze. Kuroo fell into a pattern where he would walk, stretch his arm out in front of Daichi, walk, stop, stretch his arm out again, then continue and repeat. They had made enough turns that at this point Daichi was nearly sure the Careers would never be able to find them.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
… _Fukurodani,_ however, most likely could with their amazing eyesight. Daichi shifts his weight to his other foot, then narrows his eyes suspiciously at the other.  
  
“If you’re thinking Bokuto and Akaashi are going to come after us, they won’t. Killing isn’t their priority. They’ll most likely wait it out until the end and see where to go from there.”  
  
Daichi crosses his arms. “But they’d have the advantage in the dark.”

 “They’re nocturnal, yes, but we’ve been wandering with them since the first day. They’re just as exhausted.” Kuroo responds readily. He pauses, uncertain about speaking.  
  
He doesn’t say anything else.  
  
Kuroo stops in his tracks, stretching his elongated limbs while making that low, purring noise again. His tone changes into something lighter—though Daichi still isn’t sure if it’s genuine. “Besides, I’m a light sleeper when I need to be.”

  
Daichi raised his brow and hummed, thinking to himself. The heightened adrenaline and stress of the arena probably was weakening Fukurodani as much as everyone else. The constant vigilance, jumping at every little sound— it took an inconceivable toll on the body and mind.  
  
His mind flits back to when he saw them, hidden up against a cliff. Akaashi was injured, hand up in a sling— and a bit winded, yes—but for the most part, the group seemed to have gotten by unscathed.  
  
Were they more exhausted than they let on?  
Or were they just better at hiding it?

Alternatively, Daichi isn’t sure if he imagined the unsaid words from Kuroo’s tone of voice.

_‘I don’t need to be a light sleeper around Fukurodani.’_

_._

_.._

_…_

Daichi knew that his body would be affected, but he didn’t count on just how much. It was aggravating, but at least all of them were the same. Maybe the same.  
  
Anyway, he was _also_ a light sleeper in these types of conditions.  
He would definitely sleep with his spear in his hand tonight.  

His thoughts are interrupted.  
  
“ _Plus_ , avoiding the possibility of being killed is one of the best strategies to survive, eh?”

Daichi didn’t answer. He knows Kuroo meant that to be more of a statement than a question. He is sure “hide and figure things out later” was most of the other tributes’ plan (other than an odd rebel or two and the Careers). 

  
Kuroo pauses again, putting his arm out. Daichi assumes by now that this action by habit. Every time they stopped, he’d squint, attempting to garner some kind of grasp on his environment. By now, Daichi’s eyes have adjusted enough to see shadows, but his sight continues to be dismal at best.  
  
“We can rest here.”  
  
“Here?”  
  
Kuroo must have not noticed the incredulity in Daichi’s voice, because he’s making his way to the area anyway.  
  
“Watch your step. There’s a low depression here. You shouldn’t trip if you’re careful.” Kuroo says it with that same teasing, goading voice. This time, Daichi doesn’t react to the bait (assuming it was meant to incite something in him).  
  
“You think being right here out in the open is safe? Shouldn’t we climb a tree?” When the other doesn’t answer, Daichi prompts him again, crossing his arms. “…Hinata said you guys can all climb.”  
  
Kuroo chuckles, because he knows that the only person that could’ve disclosed that to the little orange haired tribute was Kenma.  
  
“…Yeah, we can. But we’re not actually out in the open. Best to save our energy for something else.”  
  
“And you feel safe here?” Despite Daichi’s growing confidence in their location, their maze-like path and the density of the forest around them, he still wants to know the other’s reasons.  
  
Did Kuroo just feel like stopping? Or was there a more cunning mind behind that blanket of apathy? Was this just a ploy to lead Daichi into a trap?  
  
The man was so challenging to read that Daichi felt his head throbbing in reply.  
  
Ugh.  
_What he wouldn’t give for a warm bed._

 

“We’ve walked towards the densest area in the forest. There’s plenty of leaves and sticks all over the ground. We’ll hear every bit of movement.” He sighs tiredly, and Daichi can hear the leaves and sticks beneath their feet move with him, as if working together to prove the taller tribute’s reasoning. “We’re also surrounded by a circle of small trees. It’d be pretty difficult for anyone to approach camp without us hearing. Works both ways too—since it’d be hard for them to spot us within this area.” Kuroo rolls his neck, craning up to look at the sky. “Not to mention there are plenty of “natural traps”. I made sure we passed plenty of those before actually getting here.”  
  
“What? Natural traps?”  
  
_What the hell?_  
  
“There are plenty of cliffs you don’t notice are there until you fall to your death—at night, anyway. Not to mention the sheer amount of things you can trip on and boulders for your head to land on. I guess you didn’t see it, but I made sure to walk on narrower paths.” At this, he lifts his hand, stretching out his index finger so it was pointing up to the skies, before tapping at his head. “Get what I mean?”

Daichi grit his teeth.  
  
Were there really natural traps?  
  
He figures there had to be, but he assumed Kuroo had only put his arm out and tugged him from side to side to lead him aimlessly through the forest. He was too tired to think of an ulterior motive, although he tried his best to stay alert.  
  
Instead of admitting his inability to see these traps, he takes another route of response. Daichi isn’t _so_ tired that he doesn’t want to save face. He _did_ still have his pride, no matter how much the Capitol worked to strip it from him.

 

.

..

…

  
  
“…But I couldn’t hear _you_ when you approached me.”  
  
“Yeah well, _that_ was different.”  
  
The unsaid, _“Because it was me, duh,”_ is heard loud and clear. The playful mocking tone is in Kuroo’s voice again and Daichi glowers. This guy was something else.  
  
Daichi scoffs, crossing his arms stubbornly. That’s right, it’d be different— _definitely different_ if they were dead before tomorrow morning.

  
“ _Relax_ , will you? It’s not like you’d even be able to climb efficiently in this dark.”  
  
Somehow, Kuroo had figured out that Daichi wasn’t much of a climber.

 

Daichi isn’t sure if that irritated him or surprised (or _didn’t surprise_ ) him.  
  
Maybe _Kuroo_ could relax in the middle of a killing field, but he certainly couldn’t. Daichi tightens his arms in stubborn defiance.  
  
He hears shuffling from ahead, where the feline-like tribute was— and then finally a stop.  
  
“There’s a seat here.”  
  
“A seat?” Daichi repeats.  
  
“Fallen tree.”  
  
Daichi sighs, reaching his arms out and groping blindly at the air, moving in the direction he assumed the other had taken.  
  
He’s still being careful.  
  
When he’s close enough, Kuroo grabs his forearm firmly and Daichi takes a seat next to him, groaning inwardly at how stiff his legs felt. He doesn’t realize how tired he is until he actually sits down, with the reverberating throb knotting in his thighs.

The two of them sit in silence for a few minutes. Both only able to hear each other catch their breath.

Daichi lets out a long-suffering sigh.

 

“So.”  
  
  
Daichi raises an eye disbelievingly at him. _Really?_ Randomly starting up a conversation as if they had nothing else to worry about? 

“You were separated from the little guy right when the games began, right?”

Were they keeping tabs on all the tributes? Daichi could hardly focus on himself and Hinata in that bloodbath, let alone anyone else.

Oddly though, he finds himself responding, easily.  
  
“…Yeah. We were supposed to take cover in the forest—ignore the Cornucopia. But… he ran for a backpack.” Daichi finds himself frowning, but he can’t be angry with Hinata. He knows Hinata must’ve done it to help them both. He purses his lips worriedly, bringing up his fingers to the temples of his forehead. He still needs to find him, find him as quickly as possible.  
  
“Stubborn, huh?” Kuroo’s voice is nonchalant, casual. Daichi can picture the expression on his face; can picture the gestures of the Nekoma tribute’s hands as he talks. “Kenma says he got away, though.”

Ah. _That’s right_ , Daichi thought, thinking back to when he was hiding against that cliff. Kenma did mention something like that around that time.  
  
Daichi nodded, opening his rucksack at the sound of his stomach rumbling. “I saw the whole thing. He dodged the knives from Terushima and ran back into the forest.” He rests his arms on his thighs, furrowing his brows, recalling the memory. “I haven’t been able to find any sign of him since.”  
  
When Kuroo doesn’t reply, Daichi sits uncomfortably at the sudden silence, before adding more to his previous statement. “…Hopefully he’s alright.”

It probably sounded blunt and somewhat terse to the other tribute, but Daichi was never incredibly good at letting all his emotions out. He is concerned about Hinata, much more than he ever thought he would be capable of—but it isn’t showing.

The way he looked on the outside had nothing on the way he _felt_ inside.  
  
Maybe seeing that dead tribute numbed his emotions for a while.  
Is this how his mind decided to cope with such a traumatic experience?

Daichi zips up his rucksack. There isn’t any cooked rabbit left, only the small carcass he couldn’t prepare earlier. He’d already taken a few sips of water throughout the day and he supposed that was enough. Kuroo seems to notice this, opens his own bag, and hands him a small napkin— tied at the top with some kind of twine, barely the size of his palm.  
  
When Daichi opens it, he finds leaves and other plants inside, obviously taken from scavenging the arena.  
  
Daichi remembers Hinata saying something about how Kenma and Kuroo repeatedly looked at the plants and herbs in the training area, but…

Daichi felt unsure. He wasn’t certain if it was because he didn’t trust the other’s ability or if it was simply because he didn’t trust the person himself.

  
Was this drugged?  
Poisoned?  
  
Kuroo had revealed his plan from the beginning. He seemed confident that he wouldn’t be able to find Kenma until Daichi found Hinata. That made Daichi _useful_ alive, if not for the time being. There wouldn’t be any reason to kill him. Would there?  
  
Was this scene to find Kenma a ploy to get Daichi to lead him to Hinata?  
Was Kenma really safe somewhere watching their plan unfold, leading Daichi into a trap to ensnare him?  
  
Or was he _really_ missing?  
  
“We were running when Kenma got separated.” Kuroo relates, reaching over to the small bag in Daichi’s hands, popping the leaves into his mouth.

Daichi waits until he swallows. Whether or not Kuroo saw the other’s obvious lack of trust in him, it seemed he didn’t even bother to react. Kuroo dismissed it, without even acknowledging it.

Again, he just _didn’t_ seem to care.

 

A few minutes later, Daichi follows in suit.  
  
“From the careers?”  
  
“Yeah, but not the Shiratorizawa, Jouzenji group. District Four caught up to us.”  
  
“Aoba Johsai?”  
  
Kuroo barely nods. Even if Aoba Johsai hadn’t formed an alliance with another group, they were still an undeniably formidable duo. The youngest victor to have ever won the Hunger Games, _Oikawa Tooru_ , came from their district—which in turn, made them just as competitive every year, with just as much to prove as the rest of them.

 

“What happened?” Daichi prods, grimacing at the bitter taste of the leaves.  
  
  
“…”

Daichi licks his lips, patiently waiting for the other to respond.  
Or maybe he didn’t want to respond.  
He wouldn’t know.  
  
It isn’t long after when he hears shuffling under Kuroo’s feet.  
  
“I turned around and he wasn’t there.”  
  
The tribute is taciturn, but there is a slight tinge of guilt in Kuroo’s voice. Daichi cannot see any visible change in the tribute’s face, especially in the darkness. He speculates momentarily if the smaller blonde tribute was somewhere wounded and unable to move.

He knew better than to ask what Kuroo thought.    
  
“How do you know he’ll be with Hinata?”  
  
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Kuroo smiles slowly, a glint of his teeth exposing themselves to Daichi. He leans his arms forward, lacing his fingers together and stretching to make them crack softly, one by one. Kuroo’s voice isn’t hopeful— it’s _certain_.

  
  
His answer is simple: “They’re friends.”

  
  
Daichi swallows, crunching at the leaves in his mouth. So the friendship really _was_ genuine, on both sides.  
  
Kuroo stands, now making a rubbing motion with his hands, most likely in attempt to bring warmth to them. Daichi looks away from the familiar gesture, even if he can scarcely see. He doesn’t want to think of home, of Sugawara, cold and rubbing his arms together, huddled under his blue scarf— even if Daichi _is_ already interrupted with thoughts of Sugawara several times a day.

  
“I have a sleeping bag. You can have the other side.”  
  
Daichi raises a brow as the other shuffles to place the sleeping bag on the ground, leaning over to straighten out any kinks and uneven lumps. Even from where Daichi is standing, he can tell that the sleeping bag is long enough for the tribute’s body, lined with plush, soft luxurious fur that could probably withstand most types of weather.

He barely even noticed Kuroo carrying around such a thing.

  
To receive this kind of gift from the sponsors…  
  
Kuroo finally settles on top, stretching his arms again and releasing a loud, unrestrained yawn. Daichi didn’t want to be in such close proximity with the tribute, but with pine needles, sticks and sharp leaves on the ground…

Not to mention he _was_ exhausted…

.

..

…

“You _stay_ on your side.” Daichi threatens, approaching him. The sleeping bag is incredibly big in width, and upon taking a seat on top, he realizes it’s cushioned in a way where they can’t feel the uneven forest ground. He _also_ notices that it’s a double.

 

_Unbelievable._

 

Was the Capitol _so_ entranced by that love story that they gave these two a sleeping bag to _share_? _Stupid_ , Daichi thinks, even though by now he realizes the ‘love story’ is probably true.

Daichi wouldn’t want to be paraded around on television for some dumb citizen to coo at while doing something useless and idiotic, painting their nails—while his own people, like Noya, Asahi, _Suga_ — were starving back in the district.  
  
He had no doubt that the tribute accompanying him felt that way too—but Kuroo was smart, and he probably used every bit of the Capitol’s idiocy to his advantage.  
  
…Also, Kuroo’s temper wasn’t nearly as bad as Daichi’s, and that probably helped.  
He wasn’t even sure if pride was anything Kuroo cared about at this point.  
  
“Heh.” There is mutual aversion in Kuroo’s voice, one scoffing at the mere implication. Daichi can see him lifting both hands to emphasize his distaste, shaking his head. “…Don’t flatter yourself, Sawamura.”   
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

 

Once they are both settled on the sleeping bag, that ‘patriotic’ obnoxious music begins to play, resounding in the air, reverberating on the ground. The music sounds incredibly _fake and_ _manufactured_ , that it nearly gives Daichi a headache. It startles Daichi at first, jumping lightly at the sudden sound of music thrown into the air. Kuroo makes no move—only remains sitting up, knees pulled up against his chest with his arms resting loosely across.  
  
His eyes are staring intently at the sky, and his positioning faintly reminds Daichi of a certain pudding-headed tribute.  
  
No sign of Fukurodani.  
No sign of Hinata.  
No sign of Kenma.  
  
At this, Kuroo shuts his eyes before leaning back on the sleeping bag, curling up as best as he can to make himself comfortable.

Daichi then hears a forced chuckle aside him.  
Daichi also shuts his eyes, tightly.  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
The silence is both comfortable and suffocating.

Daichi glances over to the bed-headed tribute aside him.  
  
“…What’s so funny?”  
  
“You ever get a chance to look up at the skies back at home?”  
  
Daichi pauses, opening his eyes slightly to glance above them. Flashes of memories go through his mind, images of him and Suga sitting at the edge of the hill, looking out at the forest where they thought freedom lay in wait. He can remember staring up at the skies when that escapee was captured and he remembers them resting under a star-filled sky not long after that.

  
They always did things like that.  
It was an escape.  
  
They couldn’t _physically_ escape, but their minds could.  
They could be distracted.  
  
Away from home.  
Away from reality.

  
“…Yeah, why?”  
  
Kuroo shifts aside him, turning away. “…I was just thinking. Looking up at the skies after these Games is going to be pretty different.”

  
Daichi blinks. Suddenly, he recalls just how much enormous—how much more terrifying—the sky became after his father had passed away. It felt infinite. _Forebodingly_ infinite.  
  
Stunned by the sudden memory, he pushes it away.  
  
“Night, Sawamura.”  
  
Daichi hesitates, wanting to speak and say something. When his eyes fall on Kuroo’s back, still and unmoving, he settles on only a whisper.  
  
“…Night.”

 

With that, his eyes shut as he falls into slumber.  
  
His spear, laying forgotten a few feet away.  
  
__

  
.

..

…

 

When Daichi wakes the next morning, he jolts up in surprise when he sees the other already up and seated on the log with a small fire started, red embers crackling lightly against the soft wind every couple of seconds. He sits there dazed, eyebrows scrunched as he forced his eyesight to focus quickly and adjust to the sunlight. Daichi had actually woken up half way through the night, turned to look at Kuroo, who was sleeping on his back and scrunching—no— _sandwiching_ —both sides of his rucksack (a makeshift pillow) into the sides of his head.

It was the _oddest_ thing Daichi had ever seen.  
  
He fleetingly wondered if Kuroo could even breathe properly with his face cramped between a pillow like that—but— _he guessed_ — he now knew why Kuroo’s hair looked like that—like some crazy bedhead sticking up in different directions.

 

In this bleary state of exhaustion, Daichi had forgotten he even teamed up with Kuroo. He couldn’t believe how quick he let his guard down—how exhausted that his body was just completely shut off. Last night (and just now) was probably the best opportunity Kuroo had so far to kill him—if he wanted to.

  
…It was also the best opportunity _Daichi_ had if he wanted to finish Kuroo once and for all.

Daichi raises his eyes to look the tribute in the face—attempting to be secretive about it—but without much success. Daichi’s unease with the situation must be incredibly obvious in his body language because Kuroo—immediately— rolls his eyes.

 

Daichi doesn’t even realize his hand was groping around the ground looking for his spear.

  
“I said _relax_ , Sawamura. _Geez_ , are you this uptight around Suga at home?”  
  
When Kuroo says, “Suga”, it gives Daichi chills. Not because he said it in any threatening or condescending way, but because of how _casual_ it was said, like they were _old friends_. Daichi’s mouth opens, as if to say, _how do you even know him_ , when he realizes:  
  
‘ _Right. My relationship with him is being paraded all over the world.’_  
  
He mumbles an apology under his breath, not for Kuroo, but for Suga.

Sugawara doesn’t have to be dragged into this, but he is, in full blown “High Definition”. Just a few weeks ago, Daichi had no idea what that even meant. He cringes.  
  
Daichi purses his lips tightly, eyes falling back on the fire in front of him. He doesn’t allow the comment to stress him. If it had come out of any other tribute though… and with a more scathing tone…

  
What was he thinking?  
Was he saying that he was _okay_ enough with Kuroo to allow that kind of casual talk?

His thoughts are interrupted by the crackling fire in front of him.  
  
He doesn’t want to show his relief that the other had already started a fire (and relief in the fact that he really _hadn’t_ actually been killed sometime during the night).

Kuroo’s plan to stay here worked. It was safe, just as Kuroo had stated.

Sighing, he runs a hand through his hair.

The other seems to get the message that Daichi isn’t interested in answering.

It isn’t long until he hears Kuroo’s voice again. This time… it sounds somewhat apologetic.

“Ah…, sorry about that.” Then he adds in, “Kind of hard to be private about your personal life when all your history is up for everyone to see.”  
  
Daichi glances at him, the insult to the Capitol clear to him.  
  
He finds himself energized by the comment, smirks a bit, and nods his head. “Nice of them, eh?”  
  
Kuroo laughs. “Definitely.”

 

It’s only for a few moments, but the laughter is enough to momentarily pull them ‘out’ of the arena. It felt like they had just validated themselves, proving that they were still humans and _not_ killing machines. They share a quick glance before turning away, quickly ending the conversation. Daichi clears his throat, scratching the back of his head, listening as Kuroo’s laugh fades into the air.  
  
“You’re up early.”  
  
The reply he receives is quick and crisp, but also tired...lethargic.  
It’s completely different from the previous energy they had just shared.  
  
“Couldn’t sleep much.”  
  
Kuroo continues to be inert, in front of the fire, idly poking at the embers.  
  
Was he worried about Kenma?  
Or was he just full of nervous energy?  
Or is he calm and collected?  
  
…Not that Daichi could _tell_ anything with the lack of expression on the other’s face. He sits up, rolling his neck to dispel the uncomfortable stiffness that had accumulated there. His sleep last night had been infinitely better than it had been the last few days in the trees. His fingers rest on the plush sleeping bag beneath him, running through the soft fur. 

 

“…Hey, I have a rabbit for us to share. Caught it yesterday. I cooked and ate most of the meat earlier on, but I still have the carcass. It still has enough meat on the bones for us to share.”  
  
Kuroo nods. “Right.” He pushes a leaf of some sort towards Daichi to put the carcass on, using the thick, wide leaf as some kind of device to warm it as evenly as they could, rested over horizontal pieces of wood, heating over smoke.  
  
Kuroo is putting something over the rabbit now.  
It looks like herbs.

Daichi raises an eye. He rarely ever wasted what he owned in spices, and almost never cooked with herbs, so he really had no idea which accounted for what in taste. Daichi shifts lightly, assuming a sort of crisscross seated position. “You cook a lot or something? Your district is agriculture, isn’t it?”  
  
The other shrugs. “We like a little taste in stuff we catch.”  
  
When Kuroo says, ‘stuff we catch’, Daichi understands what the other is trying to say.

Nekoma isn’t allowed to have any of the food they cultivate and grow, just like Karasuno isn’t allowed to use the minerals they mine for. They’ve just done the best they can with what they have.

Daichi had assumed Kuroo had gotten his supplies from sponsors; after all, Daichi himself had received a few things in tandem. No _matches_ _that he desperately needed,_ but small things, like an extra bottle full with water and some more twine.

  
He grits his teeth.  
  
Thinking of sponsors made him think of the Capitol, which in turn, reminded him why he was here in the first place. Daichi holds in a sneer and stares angrily at the rabbit in front of him. He crosses his arms over his chest, wishing the citizens were in here instead.

 

“Thinking of something good?”  
  
“What?”  
  
Kuroo shrugs, letting out half a smile. “You looked so emotional there, Sawamura. Had to break up the moment.”  
  
Daichi rolls his eyes, not wanting to move from the comforting padding of the sleeping bag.  He remains seated on top of it. “So you found all these herbs in the arena?”  
  
When he takes a bite out of what’s left of the rabbit, he is amazed at how delicious it is. His eyes widen a bit and he scarfs down another bite quickly. He was hungrier than he thought.  
  
“Yeah.” Kuroo responds, leaning forward. “There’s actually an endless amount of supply here just from the land.” He pauses for a moment, bringing his food up to his mouth. “I’m surprised.”  
  
Daichi nods, understanding the sentiment.

 

“Back at home…to make stuff taste a little better, we just trade things every once in a while for spices.”

 

_

 

“ _Four squirrels just for a few ounces of salt?” Daichi asks incredulously, reaching a hand up to his hair, combing his fingers through his roots. “Are you sure that’s worth it?”_

 _“Daichi,” Suga laughs at Daichi’s concern, putting his hand up to his mouth to conceal his smile, “Salt lasts forever. It also helps_ food _last forever.”  
  
“Yeah, but…” Daichi is hesitant. They hadn’t seen much game in the last few months and they could feel a turn in the weather. “But—“  
  
“It adds a lot of flavor to food and every once in a while, we need to treat ourselves. We deserve it. Keep the morale up!”  
  
“…”  
  
“Trust me.” Sugawara replies, as if Daichi had replied. “You’ll thank me later when we make soup that actually tastes like something other than water!” _

___

“Spices? So I guess you guys don’t have as many herbs available?” Kuroo swallows, drinking some water out of his flask. “When I said we like our food to taste like a little something, I only meant it in a simple way. You know, with herbs that we find out in the open.” He narrows his eyes a little, smirking. “I mean we have a few spices that are probably outdated...you know, from back when our parents were still around. But in general, we don’t really have much of anything to trade. When we do, we prioritize other things.”

 

Back when their parents were around?  
Does that mean that Kuroo and Kenma are orphans too?  
  
“Your… parents?” Daichi berates himself for letting that out without thinking. He doesn’t want to upset the other.  
  
Kuroo shrugs, crossing his legs. It appears he can feel Daichi’s sympathy, and he passes his flask of water to Daichi. “Nothing interesting.”  
  
Daichi knows there is more to it than that, but is able to bite his lip and not prod any further. He pushes himself a little more into the sleeping bag to ignore the pounding in his own chest. He doesn’t need his mind flashing back to the time he lost his father.

 

There are enough emotions in his head already.  
  
“Even if we do have herbs readily available,” he states, changing the subject, “I wouldn’t be able to tell what accounts for what.” Daichi responds helplessly. “And what do you mean, prioritize other things? Like what?”

 

“Hmmm…” Kuroo smiles a little, leaning forward. “Things.”  
  
Daichi stares at the other, unimpressed. Kuroo’s way of being jokingly cryptic and unwillingness to share private information was becoming more and more obvious as they continued to spend more time together.

  
As he watches Kuroo eat, he wonders for a moment if Kenma’s handheld needed batteries or if it was chargeable. He’d seen… in the more wealthier parts of home, electronics being charged in the wall. He supposed, with how much Kenma played— that was how it worked. Otherwise… batteries probably aren’t that easy to get ahold of. If they were, they’d probably be worth more than a few squirrels. It’d be too much effort, _on top_ of what they had to get done in the day.

He had no idea what Kuroo and Kenma were expected to do back home, what kind of work they were involved in, but like every other district—other than the Careers, he assumed it was hard and grueling. Hinata even mentioned something about Kenma saying he was up well before dawn.  
  
Didn’t they… go hungry every now and then?  
Didn’t they need medicine?  
Weren’t there other things that needed to be focused on?

Was Kenma’s handheld really worth that much to him that they couldn’t trade it for food?  
Why was he even thinking about this when it wasn’t any of his business?  
  
Tsukishima and Yamaguchi had _nothing_ and still they persevered in keeping headphones and music. They didn’t have much food, didn’t even have a proper table to eat on. Their house was almost completely void of furniture—as was their food supply.  
  
And yet _still¸_ they continued to trade batteries for Tsukishima’s music.

 

_  
_  
“Where do you think Tsukishima got that music player of his?” Sugawara asks, helping Daichi set the table. Their hunt today yielded a particularly good amount of meat and they would finally be able to have a more substantial dinner tonight.  
  
“Not sure,” Daichi responds absently. “I kind of assumed he always had it.”  
  
“Mm,” Sugawara reaches over, lighting a candle to help provide light. It was getting dark enough now that they could hardly see in the kitchen. “I gave them one of the rabbits I caught the other day.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“They seemed hungry. I think they’ve traded everything they own in that house by now. I stopped by and… it was pretty much empty.”  
  
Daichi sits, placing some of the steamed meat on his plate. He didn’t mean to think it, and he didn’t mean it in a selfish way, but he wondered if Tsukishima really needed his music. Was it even worth it?_

_He shakes his head. It wasn’t any of his business. He didn’t know the circumstances of how he received it.  
  
“It’s good for them,” Sugawara says, bringing up some water to his mouth, before taking a bite.  
  
“What is?”  
  
 “…You know, to have something precious to hold on to.” He swallows, looking up at Daichi and tugging on his blue scarf. “I hope they’ll always be able to keep it.”  
  
_

__  
  
_ Whatever the reason, obviously those objects meant much more to them than they let on. It probably gave them a little happiness at the end of the day. Some motivation, a boost. Much like an extra kick of taste in a dish. _From spices_.  
  
“We’ll have to do some hunting today while we search for the little guy and Kenma.” Kuroo starts, again stretching his long legs. He must’ve felt exhausted, to be that restless for so long. “I’m assuming you don’t have anything else other than this rabbit?”  
  
Daichi nods. “I… got distracted.” He remembers the first day of the Games, the tribute he had witnessed the death of and not to mention that damned blue scarf. He looks at his injured hand, it hadn’t stopped hurting—or pulsating since it happened.

“…I didn’t have much time to hunt.”

.

.

…

  
They sit there, in a heavy silence, until Kuroo leans back, blinking his eyes in attempt to be more alert.

“We can try to figure out some sort of game plan, but I’ve never been the type to over-plan things. Being that thorough keeps you vulnerable by setting you up for disappointment." He runs his hands through his black hair, making the bedhead stand out even more.   
  
Daichi nods, wiping his hands on his pants, wincing at the throbbing in his palm and stands.  
  
“But first—“ Kuroo says, reaching out and tugging on the fabric of Daichi’s pants, “Get over here.”  
  
Daichi stumbles, fumbling over himself at the strength of Kuroo’s movements. He wasn’t expecting it—and it took him off balance quicker than usual.  
  
_Usually_ , he’d be able to hold his balance no matter what.

  
“Wha—!”  
  
In just a few seconds time, he is suddenly he is seated next to the tribute, who is rummaging through his rucksack, as if he hadn’t done anything seconds before.

 

“What the hell are you doing?” Daichi manages, thankful that the fire had been out when Kuroo decided to pull that. He didn’t want to add _burns_ onto his list of things to worry about. “Grabbing me out of _nowhere_ —“

 

Of course, Kuroo isn’t listening.  
He’s just rummaging through that damned endless rucksack of his.  
  
Daichi shuts his eyes, gritting his teeth. Surely, Kuroo had a reason for doing that.  
He crosses his arms irritated, waiting for the other to speak. He’s attempting to ignore the countless thoughts running throughout his brain.  
  
_

 

He _also_ ignores the throbbing in his injured palm, like he had for the last how many days.  
  
_

It isn’t long until he can sense Kuroo’s eyes on him. He doesn’t need his eyes to be open to feel that lazy but intense stare.  He lets it continue, figuring the other would speak eventually.

 

.

..

 

…But then he _doesn’t_ speak, and Daichi starts to feel uncomfortable—small, prickly sensations moving up the expanse of his body.  
  
It’s enough to annoy him into asking, darting his head up to face the other tribute.  
Daichi looks up, frowning. “ _What_?”  
  
Kuroo shrugs, languidly directing his gaze lower, gesturing to Daichi’s hand. “You’ve been struggling. What happened to it?”

 

Daichi thought he was hiding it well, keeping bandages under his coat sleeve, but apparently it wasn’t hidden enough. The Nekoma tribute was just too astute— _too keen and focused_ —even in his exhausted state.  
  
“Slipped.”  
  
“ _Slipped?_ ” Kuroo says skeptically. Daichi can read the look on his face. _Slipped on what, a spear?_

 

Daichi exhales shakily, feeling petulant and annoyed.  
  
Why should he even bother telling Kuroo what happened?  
  
Daichi nearly pouts, but settles for narrowing his eyes.

 

He usually _isn’t_ this childish.

 

“I can’t _start fires_ , okay? I tried to on the first day and the wood snapped, impaling my hand. I wrapped it.” His response is dry and scathing, but the other doesn’t react.

He expected Kuroo to laugh provokingly at him, or at least talk about how incredibly stupid that was, not being able to start a fire, but he does nothing of the sort. Instead, he has a thoughtful look on his face.  
  
“And obviously, it’s still hurting.”  
  
“Yeah, but it’s not anything I can’t handle.”  
  
Kuroo rolls his eyes. “Right. Let me take a look at it.”

 

He takes Daichi’s hand, motioning for it to rest on his thigh.  
  
“What are you—?”  
  
“Just _do it_ , Sawamura.”

 

Daichi grunts in response, frown still plastered to his face. “It’s nothing,” Daichi says, but he puts his hand out for Kuroo to inspect anyway. Kuroo reaches towards it, bending his head over to look at the bandage. Gently, he pulls the bandage off, making Daichi wince in response when it sticks and tugs at the wound. As he pulls—slowly— the makeshift bandage makes an awful _wet_ and sticky noise, like the sound of masking tape being gradually ripped off a surface. The cloth by now had imbedded itself into Daichi’s cut, certain areas more dry than others—making pulling noises— _scritch—pop pop_ — as it is lightly removed exposing bits of _angry open skin_ —yellow, inflamed and red in other areas.

“Pretty deep.” Kuroo’s face remains unperturbed, his voice calm and smooth, even though the wound looked worse than Daichi remembered it. He winces, curling up the tops of his fingers (now tingling while Kuroo tries to stretch his hand as much as he possibly can), feeling the laceration sting and throb in response to the removal of the bandage.

 

“Try moving it more.” Kuroo asks.  
  
 Daichi frowns, moving his fingers experimentally. He winces as he does it, then stops immediately.  
  
“Hm,” Daichi can tell that Kuroo is examining it as best he can, even if his eyes are outwardly only moving slightly. He can see varying gradations of blood in the bandage, from lighter pink to a deeper brown where it was drier. There are still a few splinters that he couldn’t remove. Daichi was no healer, but it seemed fine to him. His hand is warm and there seems to be a light, but _off_ odor to it.  
  
He watches Kuroo’s face for any kind of reaction, but it remains unreadable.

“You didn’t wash it out?” Kuroo raises a brow at him, as if to say, ‘ _really, Sawamura_?’  
  
“Eh?” Daichi blinked, regarding the wound in his hand. Didn’t he wash it out? He winces when he takes a fuller, more scrutinizing observation. …Or maybe he didn’t.

 

He really _hadn’t_ washed it out.  
  
“Tch, and you didn’t even take all the splinters out.” Kuroo’s voice is quiet but the reproaching tone is clear.  
  
Daichi bristles, suddenly feeling defensive. “Hey, I couldn’t get—“  
  
Kuroo takes his flask, bites off the top, spitting the cover away, before pouring the contents of his flask onto Daichi’s wound. Daichi hisses, tensing up in response, yanking his hand back automatically—before Kuroo tightens his hold around his wrist to keep it still and in place. “What are you doing? You’re wasting—”  
  
“Cleaning it out.” He reaches for his bag, pulls out another palm sized container. “I told you we already found a lake. Water shouldn’t be an issue.” Kuroo narrows his eyes. “Good thing we’ve already boiled this water to make sure it’s clean.”

 _Ah._ Daichi realizes, having forgotten. Kuroo _did_ say he found a lake…or something like that.

Still, watching those precious drops of water hit the ground… it made him wince more than anything else, much more than his wound ever did.  
  
.

..

…

 

After a few moments, his hand is rewrapped. Kuroo had somehow managed to remove the rest of the splinters in his hand—and he succeeded in putting something together (“a bunch of medicinal herbs”) from his rucksack to press onto his wound. It stung, but somehow… it felt better.

Daichi moves his fingers and hand, tilting his head. Whatever Kuroo placed on it was definitely dulling out the pain. He looks over at Kuroo, back facing him and now washing his hands with more of his own water bottle, biting his lip.

It was clear that Daichi would’ve let Kuroo travel with him regardless if he dressed his hand or not. But despite that, the tribute _still_ used his own supplies to help remedy it.  
  
Could this all be a trick?  
  
_  
  
  
_Inside, Daichi feels a gnawing sense of guilt for even questioning it.  
_  
_

“Kuroo…” He says, quietly, approaching the squatting tribute as he moved to put his things away.  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Thanks.” He says, awkwardly, swallowing a lump growing in his throat. “For—“  
  
“Yeah.” Kuroo interrupts, getting up and drying his hands on the cloth of his pants. “You’re welcome.”

 

He continues without missing a beat, probably sensing Daichi’s unease with the situation.

“We probably can stay here for a while longer, until that hand feels a little better. The medicine I put on it will help.” Kuroo responds, eyeing the sky for an indication of the time. “Maybe an hour. Then we need to move.”  
  
“Yeah.” Daichi agreed, having never stayed in one spot for long. “…Then we could probably just scan the area and look for any signs of Hinata or Kenma.” He shifts his weight to his other leg. “…D…Does Kenma hunt? Would you be able to recognize his snares?”  
  
Kuroo scoffs warmly, moving to roll up his sleeping bag and tying it tight on his rucksack. “I’m the one that does.”

 

Taking that as an obvious _no_ , _Kenma doesn’t hunt_ , Daichi nods. “Hinata does a little. I’ll recognize his traps.”  
  
“Heh.” A smirk forms on Kuroo’s face, and he looks up at Daichi with newfound determination in his gaze. “Then that’ll be our first step.”  
  
_

.

 

..

 

…

 

There aren’t many signs of any living things, let alone Hinata or Kenma. Daichi bites the inside of his cheek in mild frustration, then looks up at the other. Kuroo is staring forward listlessly, his arms clasped behind his head. He has his sword resting inside a sheathe tied to his side, while Daichi holds his weapon in his hand. The makeshift spear is currently being used as a walking stick, to help support Daichi. 

  
Kuroo and he are making their way back towards other parts of the arena in the hopes of _something_ that might be useful to them.

There is a small stretch of silence that passes as they continue to walk along the area. The sun feels hotter today, but it feels nice against his skin. His feet are heavy and he can feel them ache and throb in the background, mirroring the infinite pulsing in his head.

  
Daichi figures he must be thirsty, the headache brought on by little intake, but he swallows. He doesn’t want to waste food—or more importantly, the water he has until they are near a water source. He glances over at Kuroo, his eyes seemingly glazed behind an image of calm togetherness.

 

He hesitates.

 

“…Last night was probably the most comfortable night I’ve had since I’ve been in the arena.” Daichi finds himself saying, unsure of why he felt the need to strike up a conversation. If Kuroo was manipulating him somehow, he’d know Daichi’s walls were coming down, he’d know when Daichi would be vulnerable for attack.

But Kuroo doesn’t seem to care about that.  
And for now, Daichi _finally_ puts his suspicions and distrust aside.

  
“Yeah? I guess the sleeping bag helped. That… or the company, you know.” He says, grinning at him and winking for good measure. Daichi rolls his eyes.  
  
“Are you usually this _charming_? Is that how you reeled in Kenma?”  
  
Kuroo laughs—unrestrained and genuine, deep from his chest at that.  
Daichi is taken aback. He didn’t think he’d hear _real_ laughter—without maniacal, murderous quality—in the arena. He had to look around and make sure they were still alone.

“To be honest, I don’t know _how_ I reeled him in. Wasn’t expecting it, really. Must’ve been my undeniably good looks.”  Kuroo _winks_ , just for good measure.  
  
Now he was just _teasing_.  
  
Daichi frowns, shaking his head. As always, he had no way of telling if Kuroo was telling the truth, but conversation surprisingly came easily with the tribute. “I don’t know about that.”

“Well, I can’t say _your_ taste accounts for much…”  
  
“Hey!”  
  
Kuroo chuckles again, rolling his eyes and shaking his head, pulling his backpack more over his shoulder.

  
“So what about you?”  
  
“What about me?”  
  
“Your ‘catch’.”  
  
“…My… catch?”  
  
Kuroo looks visibly confused at Daichi’s question. It takes Daichi a whole minute to realize Kuroo is alluding to Suga.  He can feel his face heat up in embarrassment, hesitant to say anything. He doesn’t know why—in all honesty, since it would probably increase his favor among the sponsors.  
  
But he’s still unsure.  
  
His emotions are muddled up in a confusing whirlpool and he can’t make sense of it. He can’t make sense of things and put them in a way that clear cut.  
  
He doesn’t answer.  
  
“Don’t think I’ve ever seen him.” Kuroo replies, as if Daichi had said something.  
  
“Seen him? Who? Koushi?” Confused, Daichi furrows his brows. Why or how _would_ he even see him?

“Well, I saw some tributes’ relatives when I was in the main hall where we were staying. I guess they were just… letting everyone see who they are—outside the Games.”  
  
He’s careful with his words.  
  
What he means is, once you’re reaped as a tribute, the Capitol invades on everything in your life, one way or another.

 

“Hm.”

 

Daichi knew a bit about this but not much. He recalls people from the Capitol coming to the district, speaking to tribute relatives and friends. He didn’t know what they were doing. Tributes from his district never lasted long, so Capitol lackeys were never in District Karasuno for long periods of time. Not anyone other than a few peacekeepers, anyway.  
  
He hoped it wasn’t true.  
Sugawara had enough on his shoulders without having to deal with annoying citizens harassing him about their relationship.

Kuroo raises his arms up to link them behind the back of his head, shutting his eyes. It doesn’t seem like he expects any more of a response from Daichi. It was nice. At least there was _someone_ who respected his privacy.

_

  
  
_“Do you ever miss your mother?” Daichi asks, staring up at a small water stain on his ceiling. His voice is hoarse, quiet, ragged. Sugawara had been with Daichi all day since the news that his father died._

_Asahi and Noya had just left a few hours ago.  
The meeting had been calm, much calmer than Daichi expected with his current state of mind. He didn’t have to say anything, didn’t have to explain that his father had died unexpectedly in the collapse of the mines. _

_Asahi, unable to hide his emotions well, had looked like he was on the brink of tears. All he did was pull Daichi into a long, tight hug. He had such a big, fragile heart and Daichi could feel it thumping against his own chest. ~~~~_

__

_Nishinoya joined in shortly after, no less strong than the other despite his smaller stature. They held together in a fierce hold that told Daichi, “_ we’re here for you _.”_

_._

_.._

_…_

_He feels Sugawara shift aside him, pulling a thin blanket over himself. “I do.” His voice is matter of fact, without any emotion laced through it. It isn’t one of cold indifference, just straightforward. Sugawara’s mother had passed away when they were ten. It’s been years._

_  
_ _“It helps that I remember a few things about her, though. She… really loved seashells. I don’t know where she got them, since we don’t have any oceans near us, but…”_

_Daichi furrows his brows. What did this father enjoy?  
  
When thinking of his father, with his mind muddled in feelings of despair and confusion, he could only remember him working.  
  
Working in the mines.  
Covered in coal dust—the smell of mines all over his person._

_Daichi swallows, racing through his mind trying to think of anything.  
What else?  
  
He can’t remember.  
  
What other memories can he think of other than his father mining for the Capitol?  
  
“How…”  
  
There’s a lump in his throat and he can’t finish his sentence.  
  
“…How do I cope?” Sugawara finishes. Daichi looks over at him, eyes still tired and swollen.  
  
“Mm…” He smiles a little, turning his head towards Daichi. “I guess I just cope by doing what we do every day.”_

_Daichi doesn’t respond. He thought that too.  
Maybe he could drown himself in work, push himself harder. He could keep his mind away from what happened.  
  
“…Just don’t distract yourself from the fact he’s gone.”  
  
Daichi turns his head in surprise. _

_“Huh…?”  
  
_

_“I was upset at first, more so at…” Sugawara furrows his brows, hesitating at his next words, trying to explain himself.  
  
“I don’t… want to sound cold, but… we’ve grown up with death all around us.” Sugawara’s gaze turns downward, as if steeling himself. Daichi bites his lip.  
_ _  
“So, when my mother died, I actually—I wasn’t as devastated as I thought I’d be.” He pauses, hands going still. “I still remember thinking to myself, ‘oh, this isn’t so bad’.” Sugawara shuts his eyes. “’I thought…’I think I can get through this’.’”_

_He speaks slowly, looking down at his hands. “It sounds selfish, doesn’t it?”_

_Daichi doesn’t respond._

_“The longer I pushed any feeling of sadness aside, the more the realization of her not actually being here hit me even harder.”_

_“I remember.” Daichi says, remembering a ten year old Sugawara, about six months or so after his mother’s passing reacting as if his mother had just died the day before. Tears were streaming down his face, and he was unable to figure out his own feelings. His sobs were so fierce it sounded as if he was choking and he was clutching his hair so tightly Daichi thought he would pull it out. He shrank down to the floor, crouching down, huddling himself into a tight ball.  
  
There were only a handful of times Daichi has ever seen Sugawara so inconsolable. _

_Daichi feels Sugawara move closer._

_“So whatever you do… don’t ignore how you feel.  Everyone has a different way of coping with loss. And… we’re all here to help.”_

__  
_

.

..

…

 

“Wait,” Kuroo whispers, putting his hand out in front of Daichi. Daichi halts immediately, almost tripping and falling forward, having been so violently snatched away from his thoughts. He can feel the dirt beneath him skid under his feet and he glares up at the other tribute.  
  
“Kuroo,” he says, under his breath, “what the—“  
  
Kuroo clasps his hand over Daichi’s mouth. “ _Shhh_!”

Daichi can feel Kuroo push him down gently—to the point where they are nearly kneeling on the ground. He reaches his free hand up, pushing some leaves away so there is a small window to look out of.

It feels uncannily similar to when he and Suga saw the escapee being taken away.  
   
“Look there.”

Daichi’s eyes widen.

 

_Aoba Johsai._

  
The mint blue on their uniform is unmistakable. They are kneeling in front of a small river, just barely out of the cover of the forest, cleaning up. From any other angle, or any other tribute for that matter, they would probably go unnoticed.  Even with that bright blue on their uniform, they were still skilled enough to appear camouflaged.

Everything about the way they are seems well-thought out. At the angle they are sitting, they can immediately take cover if they hear anything or are suddenly ambushed. They’re near _water_ , which Daichi knows is their _specialty_ , because at home, they’re surrounded by water. They’re a district of never-ending oceans. 

 _No matter how vulnerable they seem, avoid Aoba Johsai at all costs when they’re near water_. _DON’T take the risk._  
  
Those were Ukai’s words exactly.

Much like how Daichi and his friends immersed themselves into the woods back home, it made sense for people from Aoba Johsai to be the most comfortable around bodies of water, like rivers, or even the ocean.

  
Daichi wondered for a moment how oceans looked.

They must be beautiful.  
  
He would’ve loved to see an ocean before he…

  
_  
  
_She loved mother of pearl seashells._  
  
_

  
.  
  
..  
  
…

Then he remembers the reason Kuroo teamed up with him in the first place.  They had run into Careers, _Aoba Johsai,_ and Kenma had “fallen behind”.

Outwardly, Kuroo appears calm. His eyes are half-lidded, his body still—with no physical manifestations of trembling or fear. His lips are lightly pursed, though not enough to register as a sign of discomfort. His hands lay loosely, not clenched and with no outward signs of distress.

If not for what Kuroo had told him earlier, he would suspect nothing was the matter at all.  
He couldn’t help but have that nagging feeling in the back of his head.

Was Kuroo concocting a plan?  
Wouldn’t he react more when faced with the tributes that separated him from his ‘lover’?

 

“Let’s go.” He whispers. The statement comes out softly, without any trace of disdain. It’s calm. _Too calm.  
_  
“What?” Daichi prompts, whispering back fiercely before turning back at the tributes. “ _Don’t you want to—?_ ”

  
Didn’t Kuroo want to attack?  
Didn’t he want to… _do_ something?

 

“No,” Kuroo says lightly, under his breath, “Let’s go before they hear us. Even over the sound of the river, they’re sure to sense us soon. They’re Careers for a reason.”

“So we’re just leaving them there…?”

Despite what Ukai said, Daichi finds himself thinking he would probably follow Kuroo if he wanted to attack.  
  
“That’s what I said.” Kuroo replies. And immediately, he begins to move away, stepping quietly and away from Aoba Johsai. Daichi follows closely, careful not to make any quick movements that would attract attention. His body wasn’t nearly as lithe as Kuroo’s—but he could try.

 

.

..

…

 

When they’re far enough to speak without the fear of getting caught, Daichi pipes up.  
  
“What was that all about?”  
  
“What was what all about?” Kuroo smirks, reiterating Daichi’s question, running a hand through his bedhead and scanning the area.

 

He seems more alert now.

Was he expecting something?

Daichi bites his lip. He whips his head to face to where they had just came from, then back to Kuroo.

“Didn’t you want to… I don’t know, _attack_? Weren’t you looking for Kenma?”

 

There’s a small sigh that escapes the other, enough for Daichi to see the rising and falling of his chest. Kuroo licks his lips lightly.  
  
“Obviously, Kenma isn’t with them.”  
  
“So that’s… it? You’re not going to go after them? What if they know what happened? Don’t you…want to find out?”  
  
“There’s no point, Sawamura.” He side glances at him, though there is no bite in his stare. “I’d waste my energy. What if we get ambushed later? What if we find Kenma and Hinata and they’re in trouble? I’d rather channel everything I have towards finding him than going after Aoba Johsai for empty revenge. As long as Kenma’s alive, I don’t care what’s going on with enemy tributes as long as they stay out of my way.”  
  
Daichi blinked.  
Kuroo wasn’t just smart—he knew how to keep calm.  
He wouldn’t be the type to be swayed by anything.  
  
He wouldn’t be swayed—like how _Daichi_ was by a tribute with a blue scarf.

“They seemed pretty vulnerable at the river.” Daichi adds, persevering on the subject. “I mean—“  
  
“I doubt they were. Aoba Johsai is famous for not leaving any openings for their enemies. Their district is so close-knit you could take any two people and probably form the strongest teams.” Kuroo pauses, straightening his body. “I’d say even more so than Shiratorizawa. They may be Careers, but Aoba Johsai works like family. Bonds like that are difficult to break through.”  
  
“You know a lot about them?”  
  
“I’ve _heard_ a lot about them.” Kuroo corrects. “From our mentor and also just from being in the Capitol. You can tell they have close bonds. That’s dangerous.”

“Our mentor didn’t have much to say about Aoba Johsai other than the obvious and…” Daichi hesitates, trying to find the words. “…Bringing up their victor as an example on how to succeed.”  
  
What he really wanted to say was that Ukai used Aoba Johsai more as an excuse to get him and Hinata to understand that “popularity” _wasn’t_ just an option but a _necessity_.  
  
But they were being watched by the Capitol now, weren’t they? Saying something like that probably wouldn’t sit well with his chances of being sponsored. It would probably make him look fake or something.  
  
Heh.  
Funny that the Capitol wanted ‘genuine’ when there was nothing genuine or real about the citizens at all.

Daichi kicks at the ground. “…Honestly, all I know about them is Oikawa.”

Kuroo pauses, a light silence between them before replying. “Ah.” He pulls the strap on his backpack more as they continue to walk.  “Well, who doesn’t know him? Even people in the districts—who have never been exposed to the Capitol—know about him. He’s probably one of the most famous victors of all time.”

“He’s the youngest victor to have ever won, right?”  
  
“Him _and_ his partner, yeah.”

 

Him and his partner? He has _never_ heard of Oikawa’s partner. He assumed either the partner was older, didn’t stand out as much...or died during the Games. Why else would they not capitalize on having not one but two star winners?

 

He furrows his brows. What about the victory tour?  
  
Tributes who won would do a victory tour throughout all of the districts, making speeches and enjoying whatever the district had to offer.  
  
He vaguely remembers Oikawa coming to his when he was much younger, but…was there someone with him at the time?  
  
Was he just not paying attention?  
  
There was no way he wouldn’t have noticed another victor.  
  
Was Oikawa’s district partner just not on par with Capitol standards? Especially when presented next to Oikawa himself?  
  
He frowns, thinking back to Ukai.  
  
If they let someone like _Ukai_ do the victory tour and go to the Capitol every year… then he couldn’t imagine why not Oikawa’s partner.  
  
What is going on?  
Is his partner _that_ bad?  
  
Daichi can feel his forehead crease in confusion. He turns to Kuroo, unable to hide the curiosity in his eyes any longer. “His partner?”

 

“Iwaizumi Hajime. Oikawa mentioned him—while we were back in the Capitol. They were interviewing him. Leave it to _you_ to not pay attention.” Kuroo scoffs, chuckling a bit. It only increases Daichi’s interest.  
  
“…Don’t think I’ve…”  
  
Kuroo finishes for him.  
  
“Don’t think you’ve heard much about him?”  
  
“I guess… I guess I assumed his partner wasn’t around.” Daichi feels himself stumble on his words. It feels awkward for him, for some reason to speak about this—as if it is taboo. “I didn’t know he survived. Shouldn’t he have been at the Capitol too? Aren’t… ” He raises his hands to look at them, in attempt to find something to do with the nervous feeling he felt welling up within his chest. “Aren’t all victors supposed to be mentors?”  
  
“Yeah, they are.” Kuroo responds simply. “But things happened.”  
  
“Things?” Daichi asks absently. “What things?”  
  
“You know. After the Games, he got sort of…”

 

Suddenly, Daichi feels a jolt in him. Like electricity.  
  
“Stop.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I get it.”

 

He didn’t want to know.  
  
He didn’t _want_ to know what kinds of effects the Games had on Iwaizumi Hajime—effects that he _clearly_ saw in his own mentor, Ukai Keishin.  
  
He didn’t _want_ to know what kinds of things Oikawa Tooru had to sacrifice or do to help his fellow victor.  
  
(Surely there were consequences for Iwaizumi _not_ being a mentor? The Capitol wouldn’t let someone just live the rest of their life in peace—that was the _point_ of being a mentor.  It consistently held up the message the Capitol wanted them to see and realize. _You never escape the Games, even if you win._ The Capitol still owned and controlled your life, regardless.)

In the case of Iwaizumi Hajime, who  _wasn't_  seen as a mentor, who  _wasn't_  seen during the victory parade (or was he?), just how much of himself did he have to _lose_? How much of yourself do you need to lose in order for the Capitol actually leave you alone? How much of yourself do you need to lose for them to deem you u _seless_ — despite going into the Games for their own sick and twisted entertainment?

He didn’t know what Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s relationship was exactly, but something in him knew it was much more than it seemed. Oikawa must have seen his partner in his darkest moments. He must’ve relived the Games over and over and over again because of it.  
  
Daichi clenches his fists.  
  
He didn’t _want_ to know the horrible, permanent effects the Hunger Games can have on a person, victor or not.  
  
He didn’t want to be reminded that there was no escape.  
  
But most of all…  
  
_Most of all_ , he didn’t want to intrude.  
Privacy was one of the last holds people had on their lives. Victors—especially the most popular ones, lost that completely.

For some reason, he found himself wanting to respect Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s privacy.

What little they had left, if they even _had_ anything left.  
Even though they were a rival team, he didn’t want to talk about it anymore.  
  
He didn’t want to pry.  
It wasn’t pity he was feeling, but respect.  
He wanted to respect them, at least in that aspect of their lives.

 

He looks up at Kuroo, eyes tired and half-mast.  
  
“Let’s just… let’s just leave that be.”

 

Daichi’s brows are furrowed as he gives the ground a hard stare. He then looks up at Kuroo, whose straight face nods in response. There’s an understanding between the two of them as they continue to walk forward, away from the river, in the opposite direction of the Aoba Johsai tributes.  
  
Don’t _intrude._

_Give them peace.  
  
_

_

  
.  
  
..  
  
…

 

Not even five minutes pass when Kuroo and Daichi feel a misplaced, _ominous_ wind pass them. They both stop in their tracks, _motionless_ , on their toes. Suddenly, there is an odd stench in the air. Something so strong and overpowering that reached up, something that _assaulted_ their nostrils. They immediately look at each other.

 

Gas.

 

Before either of them can even move or say a thing, a soaring wall of searing flames as bright as the sun appear only feet away before them. It nearly blinds them, and all they can hear is the cracking of branches and leaves as they suddenly singe and overheat. There’s a thick and heavy air that overwhelms them, blowing back their hair at its devastating power. Daichi has to shut his eyes briefly to even be able to readjust his eyesight. He is stopped long enough for flames to whip out scrape his backside. 

 

 _“Run!”_ Kuroo grunts as he grabs Daichi’s arm and forcibly pulls the other ahead of him.

 

Knowing Kuroo is directly behind him, he pushes forward, sunspots slowly dissipating from his vision, as fast as his legs can carry him. He hears a pained sound come from behind him, but before he can look behind him to check, Kuroo’s palm is forcing him forward, faster and faster.  
  
_“Move!”_

  
They continue to run, and other than the hurried gasps from how fast they are running, Daichi doesn’t make a sound. The adrenaline is too much.  
  
They can’t feel _anything but the tightness in their chests.  
Even knowing they’ve been singed by the fire, there’s no feeling.  
_ They don’t have time to _feel_ anything.

“This way!”  
  
This time, Daichi feels himself get pulled back, exclaiming in surprise. “What are you doing?? Why are we running this way?”  
  
They’re now running horizontal to the fire.

_It doesn’t make sense._

Shouldn’t they run forward and away?  
At this rate, if they lose their footing, if they slow down _at all_ , they’d be burned to death.  
  
Kuroo grunts, but doesn’t reply. Daichi curses under his breath, but trusts him.

   
He doesn’t know why, but he does.

  
A few minutes later, he sees the river that Aoba Johsai had been sitting near. There was no sign of the Career tributes; they probably had run from the smell of smoke and the sheet of fire that had appeared to reach into the skies.

But that’s when Kuroo’s plan suddenly clicks, and Daichi realizes that he’s leading them to the water to escape the flames.

Daichi doesn’t even have time to respond to how strong the river currents are, the sloshing noises of the water hitting rocks and broken trees… and whether or not Aoba Johsai is still around.  
  
He has no idea how deep the water is or if he can even swim in a current that wild.  
  
_They jump._

 

The next thing he knows, they’re in the water.

  
The current is so strong and fast that Daichi isn’t sure where they’re going.  He is being yanked violently from side to side, in whatever direction the water brings him. He’s coughing, spitting up bits of water as it gushes and hits his face. His eyes feel like they’re burning. He can feel his body bruise with the impact he is hitting immovable objects—boulders—fallen trees.  
  
He never expected the current to be _this_ strong.

He makes several attempts to reach out to a boulder to grab it, but his hands slip. His grip is no better in his wounded hand and he’s grunting to get ahold of himself.  
  
He braces himself at the next rock and lurches towards it.  
  
Coughing, he grabs hold onto a boulder, latching himself on as hard as he can. He can feel the current push at him, his body being shoved forward with unmeasurable force. He can feel his hand throb with the pressure, as if his body is pulling his arm out of his socket at its force. He is screaming at his fingers, forcing them to grip harder than they can.  
  
Gritting his teeth, he pulls himself hard against the water.  
His body is heavy, _too_ heavy.  
  
He turns his head, looking for the bedhead.  
  
“Grab onto me!” Once situated with a strong hold, he reaches out his arm. Kuroo grabs on as best as he can and Daichi grits his teeth.  
  
“Ngh!” He can feel the searing pain in his arm as Kuroo takes hold, his arm now supporting his own weight with that of the other tribute.  
  
He isn’t willing to let go.  
Grunting, he pulls himself out of the river, tightening his hold on Kuroo pulling the tribute onto shore.  
  
He notices just how tightly Kuroo holds him, as if his life depended on it. The look in Kuroo’s eyes show something he’s never seen before in him.

  
Was that fear?  

 

-

 

.

..

…

  
When finally out of the water, Kuroo is laying on the ground, propping himself up with his hands, coughing up the river water that he had swallowed.  His hair is completely matted down and his eyes are bright red.

He’s shaking—and it’s at that moment Daichi realizes he is too. The water was freezing, blisteringly so. They could have easily drowned in its wake.

“…Kuroo? Are you okay?” His voice comes out much more winded than he expected and Kuroo starts to cough more aggressively. Daichi’s shoulders are tight, grinding his teeth, _wanting_ to help, but also wanting to give the tribute space. He hesitates, kneeling down and leaning towards him, rubbing his back.  
  
He looks up at the sky and at their surroundings. Daichi sees smoke from the fire upstream, on the opposite side of the river.

There are no signs of it following after them.

 

.

..

…

 

“It looks… it looks like it swept us down pretty far.”

There isn’t a response for several minutes.  
  
.

..

…  
  
He decides to just let it be.

__

.  
  
..  
  
…  
  
The sun slowly sets, giving the arena an ethereal, _mocking_ —orange glow. They are sitting silently in front of that river, tending to their wounds in what appeared to be an emotionless state. _Shock._ The fire had hit them out of nowhere, but they were able to escape it. It was most likely set upon them to push them back towards Aoba Johsai—to force bloodshed and battle.  
  
_That damn Capitol._  
Daichi’s head is pulsating, a headache settling itself in.

  
He made it.  
_Miraculously,_ without any severe injuries.  
  
Daichi’s body is still aching from the impact—and as he attempted to position himself comfortably on the ground, he realizes he would be horrifically bruised and sore tomorrow. He winced, rubbing the side of his torso where he had been hit with the most impact. It was tender and hot to the touch, angrily reddened. He sighed. As long as he wasn’t bleeding internally… he would be fine.  
  
They end up resting, hanging their clothes up to dry so they wouldn’t become sick. They were tucked away in an area hidden enough to feel safe enough to do so.

Daichi rubs his lips, setting his hands on top of his thighs. He thought he was done for when the fire had seared through his shirt onto his skin.

He is brought back to reality when he hears Kuroo make a small hissing sound as he attempts to remove his coat. The fabric is pulling lightly at the wound created by the fire on his back. Daichi moves to help him, but Kuroo removes it before he reaches him.

Had Kuroo not pushed him ahead, these wounds would have been _his own._

  
Daichi grabs his flask, taking some of the water to clean out the wound on his arm, one that had been opened from slamming against the rocks in the current.

Kuroo is breathing shallowly and if one stared hard enough, you would be able to see the slight tremble in his limbs.

                                               

“…Need help with that?”  
  
“I’m fine.”  
  
“…”  
  
The silence between them is deafening.  
And for the first time since they journeyed together, Daichi feels real distance between them.

Kuroo grunts in response.  
  
“I might need some help with the burn on my back though.”

“With what?”  
  
“Just need you to tell me how bad it is. I can’t see it.”  
  
Leaning forward, he slowly peels his shirt off, wincing as he does so.  
  
Daichi is taken aback, frozen in surprise.

  
And it really _isn’t_ the burn that catches Daichi’s attention—but the dark, maroon colored hypertrophic scars— _scattered_ —with some superimposed over others all over the expanse of his back. The edges are clean, like a thin rope, tapered towards the edge.  
  
Daichi counts at least _seven_.  
  
There’s no doubt about it.  
These are from a whip.  
  
He looks up at the back of Kuroo’s head, clenching his fist.

“Sawamura?”

Daichi swallows.

  
“Ah—yeah. They’re…”

 

They aren’t _good_ , but they aren’t open and he isn’t singed to the bone. Still, it looks like it hurt badly.

“I’m sure you can feel it, but… they don’t look as bad as they could be.”  
  
“Huh. Feels much worse.”  
  
Did it?  
Was Kuroo just good at masking his pain?

With scars like those, it was clear Kuroo was no stranger to suffering.

Daichi wavers. He can’t keep his eyes off the scars.

The words come out of his mouth before his mind can stop him.

 

“…How’d you get those scars?”

Kuroo doesn’t budge when Daichi mentions his scars. He doesn’t even _flinch._ He merely continues to stare forward, across the river, eyes glazed and distanced. All they hear around them is the rush of the river and a few birds in the trees.

He responds immediately, matter of fact and again, emotionless.  
  
“Food.”  
  
Daichi hesitates.  
He’s unable to stop himself from responding.  
  
“Food?”

  
  
“…Punishment. Anyone who steals from the fields gets whipped for it.”

Daichi mentally berates himself for not minding his own business, but it doesn’t look like Kuroo even minds. Kuroo probably figured Daichi would be curious.

“Sometimes we get a little hungrier than usual… Kenma and I. So I take a risk and get punished for it. Don’t feel sorry for me, though. I’m not the only one and I’m not the worst off. I made those decisions with the risks fully in mind.”

Daichi’s eyes remain on his scars as Kuroo continues to explain how heavily guarded everything is in Nekoma. How they break their backs every day and don’t even get a share of the crop they pick, how the peacekeepers can do anything to them and not be punished for it, and even if someone did speak up, who would care? There was no point in trying to fight back sometimes, but that didn’t stop some trying.  
  
And as if attempting to prove his point, that he wasn’t the “worst off”, Kuroo adds:  
“I have Kenma, afterall. So I’m not alone.”

Immediately, Daichi feels a wave of guilt.  He thought— _for sure_ —that Karasuno had the most difficult living situation. But as he looks over at Kuroo, crouched down at pain with those scars all over his back—and he realizes differently. While things weren’t much better back home, peacekeepers weren’t nearly as strict. The electric fence around the perimeter of their district that’s supposed to keep them trapped doesn’t even work. It isn’t even a requirement to work in the mines (unless the Capitol needed more hands for whatever reason), as long as you could _survive._

It’s almost… funny.

Still, it didn’t make anything that happened back at home “all right”.  
Daichi feels guiltier the more he thinks about it.

 

“Sawamura.”  
  
Daichi blinks, eyes focusing back on Kuroo.

“Wh—“  
  
“Do you mind grabbing me some herbs?”

  
Daichi nods—and it takes a few seconds for him to realize he has no idea what herbs account for what in healing.

  
It was always Asahi and Suga in charge of that.

_  
  
_“You’re trying to grow a lot, aren’t you?” Daichi watches as Sugawara gently repositions his new found plant, moving more soil up and around its base. He tilts his head lightly as Suga positions all of his plants. He’s beginning to accrue quite the collection—an entire variety of herbs, both medicinal and culinary.  
  
“Mhm. This is my fourth try with this species…, so it might die again. I thought maybe it would help lighten Asahi’s burden.” Sugawara chuckles, “Since we’re all always going to him when we get sick. … He’s been teaching me a lot more about it too.”_

_  
“Huh.” Daichi replies, taking a seat as he watches. Sugawara had found the perfect nook to position his small garden, where the sun hit just right._

_“You interested in learning?” Suga says with a smile towards his direction._

_Daichi chuckles and shakes his head. “I’ll stick to what I’m good at.”_

_Sugawara laughs, rolling his eyes. “Sure.”  
  
A part of him may have said that because he wanted an excuse for Sugawara to stay. It sounded selfish, but there was always a small gnawing voice in the back of his head, afraid, since his father died—of losing someone else. In his mind, even though it made no sense at all, having an excuse meant he wouldn’t have to worry about that. _

  
It didn’t make any sense.  
But then again, most things didn’t make any sense here.  
  
_  
  
“I…” Daichi shifts in his footing, looking over at Kuroo, “I don’t know much about what herbs account for what.”

“Yeah, I figured.” Kuroo responds, but there isn’t any malice behind it. “I meant if you could just grab my rucksack and grab the herbs out of it.”  
  
Daichi nods, walking over to Kuroo’s bag. Absently, he thinks Kuroo must be in much more pain than he’s letting on outwardly—because he would usually do this on his own.

“See these?”  
  
Daichi nods.  
  
“Grind them into a paste. You can use this to help.” Daichi stares at the makeshift tools in his hands and does as best as he can. At this point, Kuroo’s arms are trembling.  
  
“Just slather it onto my back, okay?”

He does. As quickly as he can—as emotionally detached as he can.  
He needs to be _efficient_. He can’t let himself waver even more.  
  
And Kuroo takes in a sharp breath, tightening his hands on the soil beneath him.

.

..

…

   
It feels like hours since the fire incident. They’re sitting close, huddled in a small hidden area not far from where they were earlier. Kuroo’s trembling had ceased and Daichi had lent him his coat to provide extra warmth.  
  
Daichi opted to use Kuroo’s coat instead since he wasn’t nursing a wound to his back. It was tight in the shoulders, but it felt fine. He owed the other a debt and he felt like lending his coat was the only thing he could do.

“We should head out.” Kuroo voices, his tone tired. It’s not hoarse or breaking, but it doesn’t have the same energy to it. “We need to keep looking.”

“Are you okay? We can rest more if you need it.” Daichi’s comes out more concerned sounding than he initially meant it to sound—and it puts him off guard. He pauses, opening his mouth to speak once more when Kuroo chuckles.  
  
“Worried, Sawamura?” His usual teasing tone is back in his voice, albeit just slightly. At least… he’s alright.  
  
Daichi frowns, opening his mouth to retort, but doesn’t answer. He can’t argue. He sighs and nudges him. “If you want to move, we can.”  
  
Kuroo, taken aback, slightly widens his eyes for a moment, before smirking.  
  
“…I’ll be fine. Let’s find a safer place to camp for tonight.”

 

He gets up, quickly, enough for Daichi to see a slight wince. He pats himself off, stretching, acting “normal”.

…It all feels contrived, though Daichi isn’t sure if his concern is clouding his judgement.

  
.

..

…

   
“...Mm, right. Let’s go.”  
  
.  
  
..  
  
…

 

They begin to head down south as the sun continues to set. It’s quiet, but not ominously so. They are on high alert—in case the Capitol or another tribute try to pull something, but the obvious dragging in their aching legs and body is difficult to ignore.  
  
It feels like they’re walking with no real direction, but Kuroo is focused, despite the pain he must be in. He does the same, turning at odd places, putting his hand out and looking around.  
  
Daichi doesn’t find himself feeling annoyed this time.

 

“You have a direction you want to go?”  
  
“I have a good feeling this area will be safer.”  
  
“Mm. Sounds—“ As Daichi’s eyes adjust to the dark, his eyes hit something on the ground. “…What’s that?”

 

.

..

…  
  
Kuroo turns, eyes already adjusted. “Looks like a trap.”

An _animal_ trap, to be accurate.  
  
Kuroo turns his head, looking around. He looks wary.  
  
“Watch my back, alright? I’ll go check it out.”  
  
Daichi nods, holding onto his spear. Luckily he had it tied to him or he would’ve lost it in the river.  
  
A few minutes pass without any real confrontation. The animal trap must’ve been left there by a tribute.

 

“Sawamura.”  
  
“Mm?”  
  
“Take a look at this. Is it the little guy’s?”  
  
The trap? Hinata’s?  
  
How would Kuroo even recognize it?  
  
Daichi squints, leaning down to the trap.  
  
It was Hinata’s—for sure. The tell tale signs were written all over it, bits of Kageyama—though not as well put together as his. Messy, uneven.

He doesn’t need to answer for Kuroo to know it’s Hinata’s.  
  
He hears a sigh of relief, and Kuroo hangs his head.

  
“…Because this…,” he reaches down, lifting up a small piece of metal, “is Kenma’s.”

  
“…What… is that?” Daichi asks.  
  
“It’s the end of the zipper to the sleeping bag we were given by sponsors.” Kuroo states. “…I didn’t even know Kenma took it off.”

The relief in Kuroo’s voice is palpable.  
If Daichi were watching the Games, he’d probably be rooting for Kenma and Kuroo right now.  
  
Daichi smiles, looking down at the trap. Hinata had made it this far.  
And so had Kenma.  
  
“Now…We just need to find them.”

 

_  
  
.

..

…

Soon, the two tributes begin to hear the soft pattering of rain upon the trees. The sky had grown dark and the temperature had dropped. Visibility was going to be more difficult for them and the cold was slowly settling into their bodies.

“Tch,” Kuroo said, muttering what sounded like a curse under this breath as he stood. Daichi turns to him in confusion, lifting a brow in question.

The sudden change in mood surprises him.  
  
Kuroo shuts his eyes, clenching his fists at his side.

 

“He…”

And by the way he said it, Daichi knew instantly who he was alluding to.

 

“…He doesn’t like the rain.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author M: Happy New Year, everyone! LOL I hope your 2018 has been treating you well so far! Here’s the new chapter, which we’ve actually put deadlines on many times last year, but uhhh yeah. Life gets in the way. Sorry for the long periods between chapters, and if you’re still around, and planning to be, thank you so much for your patience with us and this story!
> 
>  
> 
> Author K: *Coughs* H-Hello, everyone! Happy New Year! I’ve really appreciated (and became even more motivated) when I saw all the comments and support that we’ve gotten with regards to this story/the last chapter. I’m sorry this chapter took so long to come out, as Author M said, life seriously got in the way—and this chapter was annoyingly difficult to write. I’m still not completely happy with it. ;A; (Although this seems to be an ongoing theme whenever we have to write Daichi chapters… XD;) 
> 
> We were also sort of anticipating some difficulty with writing the actual Games, so please continue to be patient! I know things seem kind of mellow right now, but the action will definitely pick up. I know Hinata’s been MIA but you’ll find out what’s happening with him… in the next chapter!
> 
> We’ve gotten a lot of requests/comments regarding when we’ll be doing another recap chapter back in the districts and… It’s finally here! Or, will be here, in the next chapter—in Kageyama’s POV. I promise it’ll be one that’ll be fun to read (because it is already infinitely more enjoyable to write than this chapter haha~). Also regarding Daichi’s wounds… Yay to magical medical herbs? =u= Please continue to cut some slack with regards to wounds (both present and upcoming) in this story… as I know in real life, they’d all likely die from infection. It hurts the medical part of my brain when I write it out, but I’ve rationalized it with Amazing Capitol Herbs and Secret Magical Medicines. LOL if only that was really the case, mm?
> 
> Please as always comment/leave a review! They are fuel to our motivation in writing this so don’t hesitate to comment with your thoughts, or anything really! Please to continue to stick around… you’ll be rewarded with some nice romance in the next chapter premise. ;D
> 
> Thank you again!!


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